UNIVERSITY  • 
CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


5488 


TIN-TYPES 


TIN-TYPES 


TAKEN   IN 


THE  STREETS  OF  NEW  YORK 


A     SERIES    OF    STORIES    AND     SKETCHES 

PORTRAYING  MANY  SINGULAR  PHASES 

OF  METROPOLITAN  LIFE 

BY 

LEMUEL    ELY    QUIGG 


With  Fifty -three  Illustrations  by  Harry  Beard 


NEW  YORK : 
CASSELL   PUBLISHING   COMPANY 

104  &  106  FOURTH  AVENUE 


COPYRIGHT, 

1890, 

By  O.  M.  DUNHAM, 
All  rights  reserved. 


Press  W.  L.  Mershon  &  Co., 
Rahway,   N.  J. 


CONTENTS. 


I.  MR.    RlCKETTY, ! 

II.  MR.    JAYRES, 20 

III.  BLUDOFFSKI, 43 

IV.  MAGGIE 65 

V.  THE  HON.  DOYLE  O'MEAGHER,       ...  87 

VI.  THE  SAME  (concluded} 107 

VII.  MR.  GALLIVANT 126 

VIII.  TULITZ 148 

IX.  MR.    McCAFFERTY I/O 

X.  MR.  MADDLEDOCK,      .....  189 

XT.  MR.  WRANGLER 211 

XII.  MR    CINCH 242 

XIII.  GRANDMOTHER  CRUNCHER,  .   .      .271 


TIN-TYPES. 


i. 

MR.  RICKETTY. 

MR.  RICKETTY  is  composed  of  angles. 
From  his  high  silk  hat  worn  into  dulness, 
through  his  black  frock  coat  worn  into  bright 
ness,  along  each  leg  of  his  broad-checked  trow- 
sers  worn  into  rustiness,  down  into  his  flat, 
multi-patched  boots,  he  is  a  long  series  of  unre 
lieved  angles. 

Tipped  on  the  back  of  his  head,  but  well 
down  over  it,  he  wears  an  antique  high  hat, 
which  has  assumed  that  patient,  resigned  ex 
pression  occasionally  to  be  observed  in  the  face 
of  some  venerable  mule,  which,  having  long  and 
hopelessly  struggled  to  free  herself  of  a  despic 
able  bondage,  at  last  bows  submissively  to  the 
inevitable  and  trudges  bravely  on  till  she  dies 
in  her  tracks. 

Everything  about  Mr.  Ricketty,  indeed,  ap 
pears  to  have  an  individual  expression.  His 
I 


2  TIN-TYPES. 

heavily  lined,  indented  brow  comes  out  in  a 
sharp  angle  over  his  snappy  black  eyes,  which, 
sunk  far  within  their  sockets,  look  just  like 
black  beans  in  an  elsewise  empty  eggshell. 

His  nose  is  sharp,  thin,  pendent,  and  exceed 
ingly  ample  in  its  proportions,  and  it  comes 
inquiringly  out  from  his  face  as  if  employed  by 
the  rest  of  his  features  as  a  sort  of  picket  sen 
tinel. 

It  is  that  uncommonly  knowing  nose  to 
which  the  prudent  observer  of  Mr.  Ricketty 
would  give  his  closest  attention.  He  would 
look  at  the  acute  interior  angle  which  it  formed 
at  the  eyes,  and  think  it  much  too  acute  to  be 
pleasant  and  much  too  interior  to  be  pretty. 
He  would  look  at  the  obtuse  exterior  angle 
which  it  formed  on  its  bridge,  and  wonder  how 
any  humane  parent  could  have  permitted  such 
a  development  to  grow  before  his  very  eyes 
when  by  one  quick  and  dexterous  strike  with 
a  flat-iron  it  might  have  been  remedied.  He 
would  look  at  the  angle  of  incidence  made  by 
the  sun's  rays  on  one  side  of  his  nose  and  then 
at  the  angle  of  reflection  on  the  other,  and  find 
himself  lost  in  amazement  that  anything  so 
thin  could  produce  so  dark  a  shadow. 

It  is  a  most  uncomfortable  nose.  It  had  a 
way  of  hanging  protectingly  over  his  heavy 
dark-brown  mustache,  which,  in  its  turn,  hangs 


MR.    RICKETTY. 


4  TIN-TYPES. 

protectingly  over  his  thin,  wide  lips,  so  as  to 
make  it  disagreeably  certain  that  they  can 
open  and  shut,  laugh,  snap,  and  sneer  without 
any  one  being  the  wiser. 

Upon  lines  almost  parallel  with  those  of  his 
nose,  his  sharp  chin  extends  out  and  down, 
fitting  by  means  of  another  angle  upon  his 
long  neck,  wherein  his  Adam's  apple,  like  the 
corner  of  a  cube,  wanders  up  and  down  at  ran 
dom.  Under  his  side-whiskers  the  outlines  of 
his  square  jaws  are  faintly  to  be  traced,  hold 
ing  in  position  a  pair  of  hollow  cheeks  that  end 
directly  under  his  eyes  in  a  little  knob  of 
ruddy  flesh. 

Mr.  Ricketty  is  walking  along  the  Bowery. 
His  step  is  light  and  easy,  and  an  air  pervades 
him  betokening  peace  and  serenity  of  mind. 
In  one  hand  he  carries  a  short  rattan  stick, 
which  he  twirls  in  his  fingers  carelessly.  His 
little  black  eyes  travel  further  and  faster  than 
his  legs,  and  rove  up  and  down  and  across  the 
Bowery  ceaselessly.  He  stops  in  front  of  a 
building  devoted,  according  to  the  signs  spread 
numerously  about  it,  to  a  variety  of  trade. 

The  fifth  floor  is  occupied  by  a  photog 
rapher,  the  fourth  by  a  dealer  in  picture  frames, 
the  third  and  the  second  are  let  out  for  of 
fices.  Over  the  first  hangs  the  gilded  symbol 
of  the  three  balls  and  the  further  information, 


TIN-TYPES.  5 

lettered  on  a  signboard,  "Isaac  Buxbaum, 
Money  to  Loan."  The  basement  is  given  over 
to  a  restaurant-keeper  whose  identity  is  fixed 
by  the  testimony  of  another  signboard,  bearing 
the  two  words,  "Butter-cake  Bob's."  Mr.  Rick- 
etty's  little  black  eyes  wander  for  an  instant 
up  and  down  the  front  of  the  building,  and 
then  he  trips  lightly  down  the  basement  steps 
into  the  restaurant. 

A  score  or  more  of  small  tables  fastened 
securely  to  the  floor — for  many,  as  Bob  often 
said,  "comes  here  deep  in  liquor  an'  can't  tell 
a  white-pine  table  from  a  black  felt  hat" — were 
disposed  about  the  room  at  measured  distances 
from  each  other,  equipped  with  four  short- 
legged  stools,  a  set  of  casters,  and  a  jar  of  sugar, 
all  so  firmly  fixed  as  to  baffle  both  cupidity  and 
nervousness.  On  walls,  posts,  and  pillars  were 
hung  a  number  of  allusions  to  the  variety  and 
excellence  of  Bob's  larder. 

It  was  represented  that  coffee  and  cakes 
could  be  obtained  for  the  trifling  sum  of  ten 
cents,  that  corned-beef  hash  was  a  specialty, 
and  that  as  for  Bob's  chicken  soup  it  was  the 
best  in  the  Bowery.  Apparently  attracted  by 
this  statement,  Mr.  Ricketty  sat  down,  and 
intimated  to  a  large  young  man  who  presented 
himself  that  he  was  willing  to  try  the  chicken 
soup  together  with  a  cup  of  coffee. 


6  TIN-TYPES. 

The  young  man  lifted  his  head  and  shouted 
vociferously  toward  the  ceiling,  "Chicken  in 
de  bowl,  draw  one  !" 

"My  friend,"  said  Mr.  Ricketty,  "what  a 
noble  pair  of  lungs  you've  got  and  what  a  fine 
quality  of  voice." 

The  young  man  grinned  cheerfully. 

"I  am  tempted  to  lavish  a  cigar  on  you," 
continued  Mr.  Ricketty,  "in  token  of  my 
regard  for  those  lungs.  A  cigar  represents  to 
me  a  large  amount  of  capital,  but  it  shall  all 
be  yours  if  you'll  just  step  upstairs  and  see  if 
my  old  friend,  Ike  Buxbaum,  is  in." 

"He  aint  in,"  said  the  waiter. 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"I  jist  seen  him  goin'  down  de  street." 

"Who  runs  his  business  when  he  adjourns  to 
the  street." 

"Dunno.     Guess  it's  his  wife." 

"Aha!  the  beauteous  Becky?" 

"I  dunno ;  I've  seen  a  woman  in  dere." 

"You're  sure  Ike  has  gone  off,  are  you?" 

"Didn't  I  say  I  seen  him?" 

"True.  I  am  answered.  My  friend,  there's 
the  cigar.  There,  too,  are  the  fifteen  cents 
wherewith  to  pay  for  my  frugal  luncheon. 
Look  upon  the  luncheon  when  it  comes 
as  yours.  I  bethink  me  of  an  immediate  en 
gagement,"  and  rising  abruptly  Mr.  Ricketty 


CHICKEN   IN   DE   BOWL,    DRAW   ONE  ! 


8  TIN-TYPES. 

hastened  out  of  the  restaurant  into  the 
street. 

He  glanced  quickly  through  the  pawnshop 
window  and  made  out  the  figure  of  a  woman 
standing  within  among  the  shadows.  He  ad 
justed  his  hat  to  his  head  and  a  winsome  smile 
to  his  countenance,  and  entered. 

"Good-morning !"  he  said,  breezily,  to  the 
young  woman  who  came  forward,  "where 's 
Ike?" 

"Gone  out,"  she  answered,  looking  him  over 
carefully. 

"Tut,  tut,  tut,"  said  Mr.  Ricketty,  as  if  utterly 
annoyed  and  disappointed.  "That's  too  bad. 
Will  he  be  gone  long?" 

"All  the  morning." 

"Will  he  now?  Well,  I'll  call  again,"  and 
Mr.  Ricketty  started  for  the  door.  He  stopped 
when  he  had  gone  a  step  or  two,  however,  and, 
wheeling  about,  looked  earnestly  at  Becky. 

"Let  me  see,"  he  said,  "you  must  be  Ike's 
wife.  You  must  be  the  fair  and  radiant  Becky. 
There's  no  doubt  of  it,  not  the  least,  now,  is 
there?" 

"Well,  what  if  there  aint?"  said  Becky, 
coolly. 

"Why  if  there  aint  you  ought  to  know  me. 
You  ought  to  have  heard  Ike  speaking  of  his 
friend  Ricketty.  You  ought  to  have  heard 


TIN-TYPES.  9 

him  telling  of  what  a  good-for-nothing  old  fool 
I  am.  If  you  are  Becky,  then  you  and  I  are 
old  friends." 

"S'posin'  we  be,"  said  Becky,  "what  then?" 

"To  be  sure,"  Mr.  Ricketty  replied,  "what 
then?  Then,  Becky,  fair  daughter  of  Israel, 
I've  a  treasure  for  you.  I  always  lay  my  treas 
ure  at  the  feet  of  my  friends.  This  may  not 
be  wise ;  it  may  not  be  the  way  to  grow  rich ; 
but  it  is  Steve  Ricketty 's  way,  and  he  can't 
help  it.  I  have  a  treasure  here  now  for  you. 
It  has  taken  months  of  suffering  and  sorrow  to 
induce  me  to  part  with  it.  Around  it  cluster 
memories  of  other  and  brighter  days.  Look !" 

Mr.  Ricketty  produced  a  string  of  large  and 
beautiful  pearls.  They  were  evidently  of  the 
very  finest  quality,  and  Becky's  black  eyes 
sparkled  as  she  caught  their  radiance. 

"See,"  said  Mr.  Ricketty,  "see  the  bedaz 
zling  heirloom.  Full  oft,  sweet  Jewess,  have  I 
held  it  to  my  bosom,  have  I  bedewed  it  with 
my  tears — " 

"Oh,  yes,"  interrupted  Becky,  with  a  satirical 
smile,  "that's  what's  made  the  colors  so  fine, 
I  suppose." 

"Becky,  do  not  taunt  me,"  Mr.  Ricketty 
answered,  reproachfully.  "This  is  a  sad  hour 
to  me.  What'll  you  give  for  it?" 

"Where  did  it  come   from?"    asked   Becky, 


1 6  TIN-TYPES. 

shrewdly.  "We  like  to  know  what  we're  doing 
when  we  buy  pearl  necklaces  at  retail." 

"It  was  my  mother's,"  replied  Mr.  Ricketty, 
touching  his  handkerchief  to  his  eyes.  "When 
she  breathed  her  last  she  placed  these  pearls 
about  my  neck.  'Stephen/  she  said,  'keep 
them  for  my  sake.'  ' 

Becky  hesitated.  Not  that  she  was  at  all 
impressed  with  this  story  of  how  the  necklace 
came  into  Mr.  Ricketty's  possession.  She 
was  fully  alive  to  the  risk  she  ran  in  entering 
into  any  bargain  with  gentlemen  of  Mr.  Rick 
etty's  appearance,  but  the  luster  of  the  pearls 
burned  in  Becky's  eyes. 

"Well,"  she  said,  with  a  vast  assumption  of 
indifference,  "I'll  give  you  fifty  dollars  for 
them." 

Mr.  Ricketty  cast  forth  at  her  one  long, 
scornful  look  and  then  started  to  go  out. 

"Oh,  well,"  she  called  after  him,  "I'll  be 
liberal.  I'll  make  it  a  hundred." 

"No,  Becky,  you  wont.  You'll  not  get  that 
glorious  relic  for  the  price  of  a  champagne  sup 
per.  I  will  die.  I  will  take  my  pearls  and  go 
and  jump  off  the  bridge,  and  together  we'll 
float  with  the  turning  tide  out  into  the  blue  sea. 
Adieu,  Rebecca,  so  beautiful  and  yet  so  cold, 
adieu !  How  could  Heaven  have  made  thy 
face  so  fair,  thine  eyes  so  full  of  light,  thy  ruddy 


TIN-TYPES.  it 

lips  so  merry,  but  thy  heart  so  hard  !  I  press 
thy  hand  for  the  last  time,  fair  Rebecca — " 

"Well,  I  like  that,"  cried  Becky;  "seeing  that 
it's  the  first.  You're  very  gay  for  a  man  of 
your  years,  and  you'd  best  keep  your  fine  words 
for  them  that  wants'  em, — /  don't"  ;  and  Becky 
withdrew  her  hand,  detaining,  however,  the 
pearls  within  it. 

Becky  was  not  ill-favored.  Her  black,  silky 
hair,  as  fine  as  a  Skye  terrier's,  curled  around  a 
comely  head.  Her  complexion  was  soft  and 
dark,  and  her  figure  light  and  easy  in  its  move 
ment.  These  peculiarities,  together  with  her 
way  of  fondling  the  pearls,  did  not  escape  Mr. 
Ricketty's  calculating  observation. 

"Becky,"  he  began  blandly. 

"Who  told  you  to  call  me  'Becky'?"  she 
angrily  demanded. 

"Daughter  of  Canaan,  lend  me  thine  ear,  it 
self  as  fair  as  any  of  these  gems  of  the  Southern 
Sea." 

"Oh,  come  off!"  said  Becky. 

"It  has  cost  me  many  pangs  to  bring  these 
jewels  here — 

"And  you're  going  to  sell  them  at  so  much 
the  pang,  I  s'pose." 

"For  hours  together  have  I  walked  up  and 
down  the  Bowery,  trying  to  rouse  my  feeble 
courage.  But  when  I  would  stop  under  the 


12  TIN-TYPES. 

three  golden  balls,  I  seemed  to  see  a  sneer  on 
every  passer's  lips.  They  were  all  saying, 
'There  goes  Steve  Ricketty,  about  to  sell  his 
fond  mother's  pearls.'  The  thought  choked 
me,  Becky,  it  burned  my  filial  heart." 

"Don't  seem  as  if  it  did  your  cheek  no 
harm,"  observed  Becky  dryly. 

"But  when  I  saw  your  face  through  the  win 
dow  there,  so  beautiful  and  sympathetic,  I  said 
to  myself,  'There  is  a  true  woman.  She  will 
feel  for  me  and  my  grief.'  Suppose  we  make 
it  two  hundred  and  fifty.  Come,  Becky,  the 
pearls  are  yours  for  two  hundred  and  fifty." 

"I  wont." 

"Am  I  deceived?  No,  no,  it  can't  be  true. 
I  will  not  believe — 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  I'll  give  you  two 
hundred  to  get  rid  of  you." 

Mr.  Ricketty  picked  up  a  little  hand-glass 
that  lay  upon  the  counter  and  placed  it  before 
her  face. 

"Look  there,"  he  said,  "and  tell  me  what  it  is 
that  makes  Rebecca  so  heartless.  Not  those 
lustrous  eyes,  so  frank  and  warm ;  not  that — " 

"Oh,  now,   stop  that." 

"Not  that  sensitive,  shapely  nose — 

"Well,  I  thank  goodness  it's  got  no  such 
bulge  on  it  as  yours." 

"Not  those  refined  lips,  arched  like  the  love- 


TJtf- TYPES.  13 

god's  bow  and  many  times  as  dangerous ;  not 
those  cheeks — those  soft  peach-tinted  cheeks, 
telling  in  dainty  blushes — 

"Oh,  six  bright  stars!" 

"Of  a  soul  pure  as  a  sunbeam — " 

"Now,  I  want  you  to  stop  and  go  'way. 
I  wont  take  your  old  pearls  at  any  price." 

"Not  that  brow — that  fair,  enameled  brow — 
nor  yet  that  creamy  throat.  Think,  sweet 
Becky,  just  how  these  pearls  would  look 
clasped  with  their  diamond  catch  about  that 
creamy  throat.  I  fear  to  show  you  lest  their 
luster  pale.  But  yet,  I  will !  See!"  and  catch 
ing  up  the  jewels  he  threw  them  about  her  neck 
and  held  the  glass  steadily  before  her. 

Becky  looked.  It  was  evidently  not  a  new 
idea  to  Becky.  She  had  all  along  been  consid 
ering  just  the  situation  Mr.  Ricketty  pro 
posed,  and  when  he  finally  dropped  the  pearls 
and  struck  an  attitude  of  profound  admiration, 
Becky  snatched  the  prize  from  her  neck,  slid  it 
into  a  drawer  under  the  counter,  and  drew  a 
leather  purse  from  the  safe  behind  her.  She 
had  begun  to  count  out  the  money,  when  a  fig 
ure  passing  the  window  caught  her  eye. 

"There !"  she  said  sharply.  "You've  been 
bothering  me  so  long  that  Ike's  come  back, 
and  we've  got  to  go  through  a  scene.  Two  hun 
dred  and  fifty  dollars  !  It'll  break  Ike's  heart." 


14  TIN-TYPES. 

Mr.  Ricketty  snatched  the  pocketbook  from 
her  hands,  coolly  extracted  bills  to  the  amount 
of  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  returned 
the  book,  and  whipped  out  his  handkerchief. 
As  the  Jew  entered  he  beheld  a  man  leaning 
against  his  counter  holding  a  wad  of  green 
backs  in  his  hand  and  sobbing  violently. 

Apparently  summoning  all  his  resolution,  Mr. 
Ricketty  dried  his  eyes  and  fervently  grasped 
the  money-lender's  hand. 

"Ikey,  my  boy,"  he  said,  "I  leave  my  all  with 
you.  I  go  from  your  door,  Ikey,  like  one  who 
treads  alone  some  banquet  hall  deserted.  I 
have  sold  you  my  birthright,  dear  boy,  for  a 
mess  of  pottage — a  mere  mess  of  pottage — a 
paltry  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars." 

Ikey  turned  pale.  "Pecky!"  he  cried,  "who 
vas  der  fool  mans  und  vat  he  means  apoudt  der 
dwo  huntered  und  feefty  tollars,  hey?' 

"Well  may  you  call  me  a  fool,  Ikey ;  I  can't 
deny  it.  I  can't  even  lift  my  voice  in  protest. 
No  man  in  his  sober  senses  would  have  sold 
that  necklace  of  glorious  gems  for  such  a  mis 
erable  pittance.  Here,  Ikey,  take  back  your 
money  and  give  me  my  pearls." 

He  held  out  the  greenbacks  with  one  hand, 
while  with  the  other  he  placed  his  handker 
chief  to  his  eyes,  of  which  with  great  dexterity 
he  reserved  a  considerable  corner  for  the  pur- 


BECKY. 


l6  TIN-TYPES. 

poses  of  observation.  At  the  same  time, 
Becky,  well  knowing  that  she  had  bought  the 
pearls  for  a  sum  which,  though  probably  more 
than  her  husband  would  have  consented  to 
give,  was  still  far  less  than  their  value,  handed 
him  the  necklace. 

The  pawnbroker  looked  from  money  to 
jewels  and  from  jewels  to  money  with  an  ex 
pression  of  curiously  mingled  grief  and  greed. 
Finally,  taking  Ricketty  by  the  coat-tails,  he 
dragged  him  towards  the  door,  saying,  "I  nefer 
go  pack  by  anydings  vat  mine  vife  does,  mees- 
ter,  but  ven  you  haf  shewels  some  more,  yust 
coom  along  ven  I  vas  der  shtore  py  mineselluf, 
hey?" 

Mr.  Ricketty  shook  his  hand  effusively.  "I 
will,  Ikey,  I  will.  These  women  are  very  un 
satisfactory  to  deal  with.  Au  revoir,  Ikey! 
Au  revoir,  madam !"  and  bowing  with  the  ut 
most  urbanity  to  the  genial  Becky,  he  strode 
into  the  street. 

It  was  easy  to  see,  as  Mr.  Ricketty  wandered 
aimlessly  down  the  Bowery,  that  his  humor  was 
entirely  amiable.  The  knobs  of  ruddy  flesh 
under  his  twinkling  black  eyes  were  encircled 
by  a  set  of  merry  wrinkles,  and  his  mustache 
had  expanded  far  across  his  face. 

He  had  gone  as  far  as  Canal  Street,  and  was 
just  about  to  turn  the  corner,  when  he  heard  a 


THE   PAWNBROKER. 


1 8  TIN-TYPES. 

low,  chirping  sort  of  whistle.  All  in  a  second 
his  face  changed  its  expression.  The  merry 
wrinkles  melted  and  his  mustache  drew  itself 
compactly  together.  But  he  did  not  turn  his 
head  or  alter  his  gait.  He  walked  on  for  sev 
eral  steps  until  he  heard  the  whistle  again,  and 
this  time  its  tone  was  sharp.  He  stopped, 
wheeled  around,  and  encountered  two  men. 

One  of  these  was  a  darkly  tinted,  strongly 
built  man,  with  big  brown  eyes,  tremendous 
arms,  and  an  oppressive  manner.  To  him  Mr. 
Ricketty  at  once  addressed  himself. 

"Ah,  my  dear  Inspector!"  he  cried  gayly. 
"I'm  amazingly  happy  to  see  you.  You're 
looking  so  well  and  hearty." 

"Yes,  Steve,"  replied  the  darkly  tinted 
man,  "I'm  feeling  fairly  well,  Steve,  and  how 
is  it  with  you?" 

"So,  so." 

"I  haven't  happened  to  meet  you  recently, 
Steve." 

"Well,  no,  Inspector.  I've  been  West,  but 
my  brother's  death — 

"I  never  knew  you  had  a  brother,  Steve?" 

"Oh,  yes,  Inspector;  and  a  charming  fellow 
he  was.  He  died  last  week  and — " 

"Was  he  honest,  Steve?" 

"As  honest  as  a  quart  measure." 

"And  did  he  tell  the  truth?" 


TIN-TYPES.  19 

"Like  a  sun-dial." 

"Then  it's  an  almighty  pity  he  died,  for  you 
need  that  kind  of  man  in  your  family,  Steve." 

Mr.  Ricketty  closed  one  of  his  little  black 
eyes,  and  drew  down  the  ends  of  his  mustache, 
but  beyond  this  indirect  method  of  communi 
cating  his  thoughts  he  made  no  reply  to  this 
observation. 

"I  suppose  you're  not  contemplating~~a  very 
long  stay  in  the  city,  Steve?"  suggested  the  In 
spector. 

"N — n — no,"  said  Mr.  Ricketty. 

"You  seem  in  doubt?" 

"No,  I  guess  I'll  return  to  the  West  this 
afternoon." 

"Well,  on  the  whole,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if 
that  wouldn't  be  best.  Your  brother's  estate 
can  be  settled  up,  I  fancy,  without  you?" 

"It  aint  very  large." 

"Well,  then,  good-by,  Steve,  and,  mind  now, 
this  afternoon." 

"All  right,  Inspector;  good-by!" 

As  Mr.  Ricketty  disappeared  down  Canal 
Street,  the  inspector  of  police  turned  to  his 
friend  and  said :  "That  fellow  was  a  clergyman 
once,  and  they  say  he  used  to  preach  brilliant 
sermons," 


OOTSEY  BIGGS  was  a  Boy.  From 
the  topmost  hair  of  his  shocky  head 
to  the  nethermost  sole  of  his  tough 
little  feet,  Bootsey  Biggs  was  a 
Boy.  Bootsey  was  on  his  way  to  business. 
He  had  come  to  his  tenement  home  in 
Cherry  Street,  just  below  Franklin  Square, 
to  partake  of  his  noonday  meal.  He  had 
climbed  five  flights  of  tenement-house  stairs, 
equal  to  about  thirty  flights  of  civilized 
stairs,  and  procuring  the  key  of  his  mother's 
room  from  Mrs.  Maguinness,  who  lived  in  the 
third  room  beyond,  where  it  was  always  left 
when  Mrs.  Biggs  went  out  to  get  her  papers, 
he  had  entered  within  the  four  walls  that  he 
called  his  home. 

20 


TIN-TYPES.  21 

Spread  upon  the  little  pine  table  that  stood 
in  one  corner  was  his  luncheon  all  ready  for 
him,  and  after  clambering  into  the  big  dry- 
goods  box  originally  purchased  for  a  coal-bin, 
but  converted  under  the  stress  of  a  recent 
emergency  into  the  baby's  crib,  and  after  kiss 
ing  and  poking  and  mauling  and  squeezing  the 
poor  little  baby  into  a  mild  convulsion,  Bootsey 
had  gone  heartily  at  work  upon  his  luncheon. 

He  was  now  satisfied.  His  stomach  was  full 
of  boiled  cabbage,  and  his  soul  was  full  of 
peace.  He  clambered  back  into  the  dry-goods 
box  and  renewed  his  guileless  operations  on  the 
baby.  By  all  odds  the  baby  was  the  most 
astonishing  thing  that  had  ever  come  under 
Bootsey's  observation,  and  the  only  time  during 
which  Bootsey  was  afforded  a  fair  and  uninter 
rupted  opportunity  of  examining  the  baby 
was  that  period  of  the  day  which  Mr.  Jayres, 
Bootsey's  employer,  was  wont  to  term  "the 
noonday  hour." 

Long  before  Bootsey  came  home  for  his 
luncheon,  Mrs.  Biggs  was  off  for  her  stand  in 
front  of  "The  Sun"  building,  where  she  conduct 
ed  a  large  and,  let  us  hope,  a  lucrative  business 
in  the  afternoon  newspapers,  so  that  Bootsey 
and  the  baby  were  left  to  enjoy  the  fulness  of 
each  other's  society  alone  and  undisturbed. 

To    Bootsey's    mind   the   baby   presented  a 


22  TIN-TYPES. 

great  variety  of  psychological  and  other  prob 
lems.  He  wondered  what  could  be  the  mental 
operation  that  caused  it  to  kink  its  nose  in  that 
amazing  manner,  why  it  should  manifest  such 
a  persistent  desire  to  swallow  its  fist,  what 
could  be  the  particular  woe  and  grievance  that 
suddenly  possessed  its  little  soul  and  moved  it 
to  pucker  up  its  mouth  and  yell  as  though  it 
saw  nothing  but  despair  as  its  earthly  portion? 

Bootsey  had  debated  these  and  similar  ques 
tions  until  two  beats  upon  the  clock  warned  him 
that,  even  upon  the  most  liberal  calculation, 
the  noonday  hour  must  be  looked  upon  as 
gone.  Then  he  rolled  the  baby  up  in  one  cor 
ner  of  the  box  and  started  back  to  the  office. 

It  was  Mr.  Absalom  Jayres's  office  to  which 
Bootsey 's  way  tended,  and  a  peculiarity  about 
it  that  had  impressed  both  Mr.  Jayres  and 
Bootsey  was  that  Bootsey  could  perform  a  given 
distance  of  which  it  was  the  starting-point  in 
at  least  one-tenth  the  time  required  to  perform 
the  same  distance  of  which  it  was  the  destina 
tion.  This  was  odd,  but  true. 

After  taking  leave  of  the  baby  and  locking  it 
in,  all  snugly  smothered  at  the  bottom  of  its 
dry-goods  box,  Bootsey  delivered  the  key  of 
the  room  to  Mrs.  Maguinness  and  descended 
into  the  court.  Here  he  found  two  other 
boys  involved  in  a  difficulty.  Things  had  gone 


TIN-TYPES.  23 

so  far  that  Bootsey  saw  it  would  be  a  waste  of 
time  to  try  to  ascertain  the  merits  of  the  con 
troversy — his  only  and  obvious  duty  being  to 
hasten  the  crisis. 

"Hi!  Shunks!"  he  cried,  "O'll  betcher  Jakey 
kin  lick  ye !" 

The  rapidity  with  which  this  remark  was 
followed  by  offensive  movements  on  Shunks's 
part  proved  how  admirably  it  had  been  judged. 

"Kin  he!"  screamed  Shunks.  "He's  nawfin' 
i>ut  a  Sheeny  two-fer !" 

Jakey  needed  no  further  provocation,  and 
with  great  dexterity  he  crowded  his  fists  into 
Shunks's  eyes,  deposited  his  head  in  Shunks's 
stomach,  and  was  making  a  meritorious  effort  to 
climb  upon  Shunks's  shoulders,  when  a  lordly 
embodiment  of  the  law's  majesty  hove  grace 
fully  into  sight.  Bootsey  yelled  a  shrill  warn 
ing,  and  himself  set  the  example  of  flight. 

While  passing  under  the  Brooklyn  Bridge 
Bootsey  met  a  couple  of  Chinamen,  and 
moved  by  a  sudden  inspiration  he  grabbed  the 
cue  of  one  of  them,  and  both  he  and  the  China 
man  precipitately  sat  down.  Bootsey  recovered 
quickly  and  in  a  voice  quivering  with  rage  he 
demanded  to  know  what  the  Chinaman  had 
done  that  for.  A  large  crowd  immediately 
assembled  and  lent  its  interest  to  the  solution 
of  this  question.  It  was  in  vain  that  the  China- 


HE   GRABBED   THE  CUE   OF   ONE   OF  THEM. 


TIN-TYPES.  25 

man  protested  innocence  of  any  aggressive  act 
or  thought.  The  crowd's  sympathies  were 
with  Bootsey.  and  when  he  insisted  that  the 
Mongol  had  tangled  him  up  in  his  pig-tail,  the 
aroused  populace  with  great  difficulty  restrained 
its  desire  to  demolish  the  amazed  heathens. 
At  last,  however,  they  were  permitted  to  go, 
followed  by  a  rabble  of  urchins,  and  Bootsey 
proceeded  on  his  way  to  the  office. 

Many  other  interruptions  retarded  his  prog 
ress.  He  had  not  gone  far  before  he  was  in 
vited  into  a  game  of  ball,  and  this,  of  course, 
could  not  be  neglected.  The  game  ending  in  a 
general  conflict  of  the  players,  caused  by  Boot- 
sey's  falling  on  top  of  another  boy,  whom  hea 
utterly  refused  to  let  up  unless  it  should  be 
admitted  that  the  flattened  unfortunate  was 
"out,"  he  issued  from  the  turmoil  in  time  to 
join  in  an  attack  upon  a  peanut  roaster  and  to 
avail  himself  largely  of  the  spoils.  Enriched 
with  peanuts,  he  had  got  as  far  as  the  City  Hall 
Park  when  a  drunken  man  attracted  his  atten 
tion,  and  he  assisted  actively  in  an  effort  to 
convince  the  drunken  man  that  the  Mayor's 
office  was  the  ferry  to  Weehawken.  It  was 
while  engaged  in  giving  these  disinterested 
assurances  that  he  felt  himself  lifted  off  his 
feet  by  a  steady  pull  at  his  ears,  and  looking  up 
he  beheld  Mr.  Jayres. 


26  TIN-TYPES. 

"You  unmitigated  little  rascal!"  cried  Mr. 
Jayres,  "where've  you  been?" 

"Nowhere,"  said  Bootsey,  in  an  injured  tone. 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  to  get  back  promptly?" 

"Aint  I  a-getting'  back?" 

"Aint  you  a-get — whew!"  roared  Mr.  Jayres, 
with  the  utmost  exasperation,  "how  I'd  like  to 
tan  your  plaguey  little  carcass  till  it  was  black 
and  blue !  Come  on,  now,"  and  Mr.  Jayres 
strode  angrily  ahead. 

Bootsey  followed.  He  offered  no  reply  to 
this  savage  expression,  but  from  his  safe  po 
sition  in  the  rear  he  grinned  amiably. 

Mr.  Jayres  was  large  and  dark  and  dirty.  His 
big  fat  face,  shaped  like  a  dumpling,  wore  a 
hard  and  ugly  expression.  Small  black  eyes  sat 
under  his  low,  expansive  forehead.  His  cheeks 
and  chin  were  supposed  to  be  shaven,  and  per 
haps  that  experience  may  occasionally  have 
befallen  them.  His  costume  was  antique. 
Around  his  thick  neck  he  wore  a  soiled  choker. 
His  waistcoat  was  low,  and  from  it  protruded 
the  front  of  a  fluted  shirt.  A  dark-blue  swal 
low-tail  coat  with  big  buttons  and  a  high  collar 
wrapped  his  huge  body,  and  over  his  shoulders 
hung  a  heavy  mass  of  black  hair,  upon  which 
his  advanced  age  had  made  but  a  slight  impres 
sion. 

His  office  was  upon  the  top  floor  of  a  build- 


"  WE'VE  CALLED,"  SAID   THE   MAN,  SLOWLY. 


28  TIN-TYPES. 

ing  in  Murray  Street.  It  was  a  long,  low  room. 
Upon  its  door  was  fastened  a  battered  tin  sign 
showing  the  words:  "Absalom  Jayres,  Coun 
sellor."  The  walls  and  ceiling  were  covered 
with  dusty  cobwebs.  In  one  end  of  the  room 
stood  an  old  wood  stove,  and  near  it  was  a  pile 
of  hickory  sticks.  A  set  of  shelves  occupied  a 
large  portion  of  the  wall,  bearing  many  vol 
umes,  worn,  dusty,  and  eaten  with  age. 

Among  them  were  books  of  the  English  peer 
age,  records  of  titled  families,  reports  of  the 
Court  of  Chancery  in  hundreds  of  testamentary 
cases,  scrap-books  full  of  newspaper  clippings 
concerning  American  claimants  to  British  for 
tunes,  lists  of  family  estates  in  Great  Britain 
and  Ireland,  and  many  other  works  bearing 
upon  heraldry,  the  laws  of  inheritance,  and  simi 
lar  subjects. 

Upon  the  walls  hung  charts  showing  the  ge 
nealogical  trees  of  illustrious  families,  tracing  the 
descent  of  Washington,  of  Queen  Victoria,  and 
of  other  important  personages.  There  was  no 
covering  on  the  floor  except  that  which  had  ac 
cumulated  by  reason  of  the  absence  of  broom 
and  mop.  A  couple  of  tables,  a  few  dilapidated 
chairs,  a  pitcher  and  a  basin,  were  about  all  the 
furniture  that  the  room  contained. 

Being  elderly  and  huge,  it  required  far  more 
time  for  Mr.  Jayres  to  make  the  ascent  to  his 


TIN-TYPES.  29 

office  than  for  Bootsey.  Having  this  fact  in 
mind,  Bootsey  sat  down  upon  the  first  step  of 
the  first  flight,  intending  to  wait  until  Mr.  Jayres 
had  at  least  reached  the  final  flight  before  he 
started  up  at  all.  He  failed  to  communicate 
his  resolution,  however,  and  when  Mr.  Jayres 
turned  about  upon  the  third  floor,  hearing  no 
footsteps  behind  him,  he  stopped.  He  frowned. 
'He  clinched  his  fist  and  swore. 

"There'll  be  murder  on  me,"  he  said,  "I 
know  there  will,  if  that  Boy  don't  do  better ! 
Now,  where  the  pestering  dickens  can  he  be?" 

Mr.  Jayres  leaned  over  the  bannister  and 
started  to  call.  "Boo —  "  he  roared,  and  then 
checked  himself.  "Drat  such  a  name  as  that," 
he  said.  "Who  ever  heard  of  a  civilized  Boy 
being  called  Bootsey?  What'll  people  think  to 
see  a  man  of  my  age  hanging  over  a  bannis 
ter  yelling  'Bootsey' !  No,  I  must  go  down 
and  hunt  him  up.  I  wonder  why  I  keep  that 
Boy?  I  wonder  why  I  do  it?" 

Mr.  Jayres  turned,  and  with  a  heavy  sigh  he 
began  to  descend  to  the  street.  On  the  second 
landing  he  met  Bootsey  smoking  a  cigarette 
and  whistling.  Mr.  Jayres  did  not  fly  into  a 
passion.  He  did  not  grow  red  and  frantic.  He 
just  took  Bootsey  by  the  hand  and  led  him, 
step  by  step,  up  the  rest  of  the  way  to  the 
office.  He  drew  him  inside,  shut  the  door,  and 


3^  TIN-TYPES. 

led  him  over  to  his  own  table.  Then  he  sat 
down,  still  holding  Bootsey's  hand,  and  waited 
until  he  had  caught  his  breath. 

"Now,  then,"  he  said,  at  last. 

"Yez'r,"  said  Bootsey. 

"You're  a  miserable  little  rogue!"  said  Mr. 
Jay  res. 

Bootsey  held  his  peace. 

"I've  stood  your  deviltries  till  I've  got  no 
patience  left,  and  now  I'm  going  to  discharge 
you !" 

"Aw,  don't,"  said  Bootsey. 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Jayres,  "I  will;  if  I  don't,  the 
end  of  it  all  will  be  murder.  Some  time  or 
other  I'll  be  seized  of  a  passion,  and  there's  no 
telling  what'll  happen.  There's  your  two  dol 
lars  to  the  end  of  the  week — now,  go !" 

"Aw,  now,"  said  Bootsey,  "wot's  de  use?  I 
aint  done  nawfin'.  'Fi  gets  bounced  mom'll 
drub  me  awful !  You  said  you  wanted  me  to 
take  a  letter  up  to  Harlem  dis  afternoon." 

"Yes,  you  scamp !  And  here's  the  afternoon 
half  gone." 

"O'll  have  it  dere  in  less  'n  no  time,"  pleaded 
Bootsey. 

Mr.  Jayres  scowled  hard  at  Bootsey  and 
hesitated.  But  finally  he  drew  the  letter  from 
the  drawer  of  his  table  and  handed  it  over, 
saying  as  he  did  so,  "If  you  aint  back  here 


TIN-TYPES.  31 

by  5  o'clock,  I'll  break  every  bone  in  your 
body!" 

Bootsey  left  the  office  with  great  precipita 
tion,  and  as  he  closed  the  door  behind  him,  Mr. 
Jayres  glared  morosely  at  a  knot-hole  in  the 
floor.  "Funny  about  that  boy!"  he  said  reflec 
tively.  "I  don't  know  as  I  ever  gave  in  to  any 
living  human  being  before  that  Boy  came  along 
in  all  my  life." 

Mr.  Jayres  turned  to  his  table  and  began  to 
write,  but  was  almost  immediately  interrupted 
by  a  knock  upon  the  door  He  called  out  a 
summons  to  enter,  and  two  people,  a  man  and 
a  woman,  came  in.  The  man  was  large,  stolid, 
and  rather  vacant  in  his  expression.  The  wo 
man  was  small  and  quick  and  sharp. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Jayres. 

The  woman  poked  the  man  and  told  him  to 
speak. 

"We've  called — "  said  the  man  slowly. 

"About  your  advertisement  in  the  paper," 
added  the  woman  quickly. 

"Which  paper?"  asked  Mr  Jayres. 

"Where's  the  paper?"  asked  the  man,  turn 
ing  to  the  woman. 

"Here,"  she  replied,  producing  it. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  see,"  said  Mr.  Jayres,  "it's  about 
the  Bugvvug  estate.  What  is  your  name,  sir?" 

"His  name  is  Tobey,  and   I'm  Mrs.  Tobey, 


32  TIN-TYPES. 

and  we  keeps  the  Gallinipper  Laundry,  sir, 
which  is  in  Washington  Place,  being  a  very  re 
spectable  neighborhood,  though  the  prices  is 
low  owing  to  competition  of  a  party  across  the 
street." 

"Now,  Maggie,"  said  the  man,  "let  me 
talk." 

"Who's  hindering  you  from  talking,  Tobey? 
I'm  not,  and  that's  certain.  The  gentleman 
wanted  to  know  who  we  were,  and  I've  told 
him.  He'd  been  a  week  finding  out  from  you." 

"Come,  come,"  said  Mr.  Jayres  sharply, 
"let's  get  to  business." 

"That's  what  I  said,"  replied  Mrs.  Tobey, 
"while  I  was  putting  on  my  things  to  come 
down  town.  'Tobey,'  says  I,  'get  right  to 
business.  Don't  be  wasting  the  gentleman's 
time,'  which  he  always  does,  sir,  halting  and 
hesitating  and  not  knowing  what  to  say,  nor 
ever  coming  to  the  point.  'It's  bad  manners,' 
says  I,  'and  what's  more,  these  lawyers,'  says  I, 
'which  is  very  sharp  folks,  wont  stand  it,'  says 
I.  But  I  don't  suppose  I  done  him  much 
good,  for  he's  always  been  that  way,  sir,  though 
I'm  sure  I've  worked  my  best  to  spur  him  up. 
But  a  poor,  weak  woman  can't  do  everything, 
though  you'd  think  he  thought  so,  if — 

"Oh,  now  stop,  stop,  stop!"  cried  Mr. 
Jayres,  "you  mustn't  run  on  so.  Your  name 


TIN-TYPES.  33 

is  Tobey  and  you  have  called  about  the  Bug- 
wug  property.  Well,  now,  what  of  it?" 

"I  want  to  know  is  there  any  money  in  it," 
answered  Mr.  Tobey. 

"Now,  if  you  please,  sir,  just  listen  to  that," 
cried  Mrs.  Tobey  pityingly.  "He  wants  to 
know  is  there  money  in  it !  Why,  of  course, 
there's  money  in  it,  Tobey.  You're  a  dreadful 
trial  to  me,  Tobey.  Didn't  the  gentleman's 
advertisement  say  there  was  500,000  pounds  in 
it?  Aint  that  enough?  Couldn't  you  and  me 
get  along  on  500,000  pounds,  or  even  less,  on  a 
pinch?" 

"But  the  question  is,"  said  Mr.  Jayres,  "what 
claim  you  have  on  the  Bugwug  property.  Are 
you  descended  from  Timothy  Bugwug,  and  if 
so,  how  directly  and* in  what  remove?" 

"That's  what  we  wants  you  to  tell  us,  sir," 
replied  Mr.  Tobey. 

"Why,  we  supposed  you'd  have  it  all 
settled,"  added  his  wife.  "Aint  you  a  law 
yer?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I'm  a  lawyer,"  Mr.  Jayres  suavely 
replied,  "and  I  can  tell  you  what  your  claim  is 
if  I  know  your  relationship  to  Timothy  Bug 
wug.  He  died  in  1672,  leaving  four  children, 
Obediah,  Martin,  Ezekiel,  and  Sarah.  Obediah 
died  without  issue.  Martin  and  Sarah  came 
to  America,  and  Ezekiel  was  lost  at  sea  before 


34  TIN-TYPES.     . 

he  had  married.  Now  then,  where  do  you 
come  in?" 

"My  mother — "  said  Mr.  Tobey. 

"Was  a  Bugwug,"  said  Mrs.  Tobey. 
"There's  no  doubt  at  all  but  what  all  that 
money  belongs  to  us,  and  if  you've  got  it  you 
must  pay  it  right  away  to  us,  for  plenty  of  use 
we  have  for  it  with  six  young  children  a-grow- 
ing  up  and  prospects  of  another  come  April, 
which  as  regards  me  is  terrible  to  think  of, 
though,  I  suppose,  I  shouldn't  repine,  seeing 
that  it's  the  Lord's  will  that  woman  should  suf 
fer,  which,  I  must  say,  it  seems  to  me  that  they 
have  more  than  their  fair  share.  However,  I 
don't  blame  Tobey,  for  he's  a  fine  man,  and  a 
hard-working  one,  if  he  hasn't  got  the  gift  of 
speech  and  is  never  able  to  come  to  the  point, 
though  that's  not  for  the  lack  of  having  it 
dinged  into  his  ears,  for  if  I  says  it  once  I  says 
it  fifty  times  a  day,  'Tobey,  will  you  come  to 
the  point?'  " 

Mr.  Jayres  took  up  his  pen.  "Well,  let's 
see,"  he  said.  'What  is  your  full  name,  Mr. 
Tobey?" 

"William  Tobey,  sir.     I  am  the  son  of — " 

"Jonathan  Tobey  and  Henrietta  Bugwug," 
continued  the  lady,  "it  being  so  stated  in  the 
marriage  license  which  the  minister  said  was 
for  my  protection,  and  bears  the  likeness  of 


TIN-TYPES.  35 

Tobey  on  one  side  and  mine  on  the  other 
and  clasped  hands  in  the  center  signifying 
union,  and  is  now  in  the  left-hand  corner  of 
the  sixth  shelf  from  the  bottom  in  the  china 
closet  and  can  be  produced  at  any  time  if  it's 
needful.  I've  kept  it  very  careful." 

"Whose  daughter  was  Henrietta  Bugwug?" 
asked  Mr.  Jayres. 

"Tobey's  grandfather's,  sir,  a  very  odd  old 
gentleman,  though  blind,  which  he  got  from 
setting  off  fireworks  on  a  Fourth  of  July,  and 
nearly  burned  the  foot  off  the  blue  twin,  called 
blue  from  the  color  of  his  eyes,  the  other  being 
dark-blue,  which  is  the  only  way  we  have  of 
telling  'em  apart,  except  that  one  likes  cod  liver 
oil  and  the  other  don't,  and  several  times  when 
the  blue  twin's  been  sick  the  dark-blue  twin 
has  got  all  the  medicine  by  squinting  up  his 
eyes  so  as  I  couldn't  make  him  out  and  pre 
tending  it  was  him  that  had  the  colic,  and  Mr. 
Bugwug,  that's  Tobey's  grandfather,  lives  in 
Harlem  all  by  himself,  because  he  says  there's 
too  much  noise  and  talking  in  our  flat,  and  I 
dare  say  there  is,  though  I  don't  notice  it." 

"In  Harlem,  eh?  When  did  you  first  hear 
that  you  had  an  interest  in  the  Bugwug 
estates?" 

"Oh,  ever  so  long,  and  we'd  have  had  the 
money  long  ago  if  it  hadn't  been  that  a  church 


36  TIN-TYPES. 

burned  down  a  long  time  ago  somewhere  in 
Virginia  where  one  of  the  Bugwugs  married 
somebody  and  all  the  records  were  lost,  though 
I  don't  see  what  that  had  to  do  with  it,  because 
Tobey's  here  all  ready  to  take  the  property, 
and  it  stands  to  reason  that  he  wouldn't  have 
been  here  unless  that  wedding  had  'a'  hap 
pened  without  they  mean  to  insult  us,  which 
they'd  better  not,  and  wont,  if  they  know 
when  they  are  well  off,"  and  at  the  very 
thought  of  such  a  thing  Mrs.  Tobey  tossed 
her  head  angrily. 

"I  see,"  said  Mr.  Jayres,  "I  see.  And  you 
want  me  to  take  the  matter  in  hand,  I  suppose, 
and  see  if  I  can  recover  the  money,  eh?" 

"Oh,  dear!"  said  Mrs.  Tobey,  in  a  disap 
pointed  tone,  "I  thought  from  the  piece  in  the 
paper  that  the  money  was  all  ready  for  us." 

"You  mustn't  be  so  impatient,"  soothingly 
responded  Mr.  Jayres,  laying  his  fat  finger  on 
his  fat  cheek  and  smiling  softly.  "All  in  good 
time.  All  in  good  time.  The  money's  where 
it's  safe.  You  only  need  to  establish  your 
right  to  it.  We  must  fetch  a  suit  in  the  Court 
of  Chancery,  and  that  I'll  do  at  once  upon 
looking  up  the  facts.  Of  course — er — there'll 
be  a  little  fee." 

"A  little  what?"  said  Mr.  Tobey. 

"A  little  which?"  said  Mrs.  Tobey. 


A  LITTLE   FEE,"  SAID  MR.  JAYRES,  SMILING   SWEETLY. 


37 


38  TIN-TYPES. 

"A  little  fee,"  said  Mr.  Jayres,  smiling 
sweetly.  "A  mere  trifle,  I  assure  you ;  just 
enough  to  defray  expenses — say — er — a  hun 
dred  dollars." 

"Oh,  dear  me!"  cried  Mrs.  Tobey.  "This  is 
vexing.  To  think  of  coming  down  town, 
Tobey,  dear,  with  the  expectations  of  going 
back  rich,  and  then  going  back  a  hundred  dol 
lars  poorer  than  we  were.  I  really  don't  think 
we'd  better  do  it,  Tobey?" 

"Ah,"  said  Mr.  Jayres,  "but  think  also  of  the 
fortune.  Two  millions  and  a  half!  Isn't  that 
worth  spending  a  few  hundred  dollars  for? 
Just  put  your  mind  on  it,  ma'am." 

"I've  had  my  mind  on  it  ever  since  I  seen 
your  piece  in  the  paper,"  replied  Mrs.  Tobey, 
"and  a  hundred  dollars  does  seem,  as  you  say, 
little  enough  to  pay  for  two  millions  and  a  half, 
which  would  be  all  I'd  ask  or  wish  for,  and 
would  put  us  where  we  belong,  Tobey,  which 
is  not  in  the  laundry  line  competing  with  an 
unscrupulous  party  across  the  street,  though  I 
don't  mention  names,  which  perhaps  I  ought, 
for  the  public  ought  to  be  warned.  It's  a 
party  that  hasn't  any  honor  at  all — 

"I'm  sure  not,"  said  Mr.  Jayres  sympatheti 
cally.  "He  is,  without  doubt,  a  dirty  dog." 

"Oh,  it  isn't  a  he,"  Mrs.  Tobey  replied,  "the 
party  is  a  her." 


THE   PARTY   IS   A   HER,"  SAID   MRS.  TOBEY. 


39 


40  TIN-TYPES. 

"Of  course,  of  course,"  said  Mr.  Jayres. 
"And  to  think  that  you  have  to  put  up  with 
the  tricks  of  a  female  party  directly  across  the 
street.  Why,  it's  shameful,  ma'am !  But  if 
you  had  that  two  millions,  as  you  just  observed, 
all  that  would  be  over." 

"Two  million  and  a  half  I  thought  you  said 
it  was,"  said  Mrs.  Tobey  rather  sharply. 

"Oh,  yes,  and  a  half — and  a  half,"  the  lawyer 
admitted  in  a  tone  of  indifference,  as  much  as 
to  say  that  there  should  be  no  haggling  about 
the  odd  $500,000.  "What  a  pretty  pile  it  is, 
Mrs.  Tobey?" 

"I  don't  know,  Tobey,  but  what  we'd  better 
do  it,"  Mrs.  Tobey  said  after  a  pause.  "It 
aint  so  very  much  when  you  think  of  what 
we're  to  get  for  it." 

"That's  the  right  way  to  look  at  it,  ma'am. 
I'll  just  draw  up  the  receipt,  and  to-morrow 
I'll  call  at  the  Gallinipper  Laundry  to  get 
some  further  particulars  necessary  to  help  me 
make  out  the  papers." 

Mr.  Tobey  seemed  to  be  somewhat  at  a  loss 
to  know  precisely  what  was  the  net  result  of  the 
proceedings  in  which  he  had  thus  far  taken  so 
small  a  part,  but  upon  being  directed  by  Mrs. 
Tobey  to  produce  the  hundred  dollars,  he  ven 
tured  a  feeble  remonstrance.  This  was  imme 
diately  checked  by  Mrs.  Tobey,  who  assured 


TIN-TYPES.  41 

him  that  he  knew  nothing  whatever  about  such 
matters  and  never  could  come  to  the  point, 
which  he  ought  to  be  able  to  do  by  this  time,  for 
nobody  could  say  but  that  she  had  done  her 
part.  At  last  two  fifty-dollar  bills  were  depos 
ited  in  Mr.  Jayres's  soft  palm  and  a  bit  of  writ 
ing-was  handed  over  to  Mrs.  Tobey  in  ex 
change  for  them ;  and  followed  by  Mr.  Jayres's 
warm  insistence  that  they  had  never  done  a 
better  thing  in  their  lives,  the  Tobeys  with 
drew. 

It  was  nearly  six  o'clock  when  the  door  of 
Mr.  Jayres's  office  opened  again  and  the  shocky 
head  of  Bootsey  appeared.  Mr.  Jayres  was 
waiting  for  him. 

"Here  you  are  at  last,  you  wretched  little 
scamp  !"  he  cried.  "Didn't  I  tell  you  I'd  whale 
you  if  you  weren't  back  by  five  o'clock?" 

"I  come  jest  as  soon  's  I  could,"  said  Boot 
sey.  "He  was  a  werry  fly  ole  genTman." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"He  said  he  didn't  hev  no  doubts  but  wot 
you  was  a  reg'lar  villyum  an'  swin'ler,  an'  cheat 
an'  blackmailer,  an'  ef  he  had  de  user  his  eyes 
an'  legs  he'd  come  down  yere  an'  han'  you  over 
ter  de  coppers;  dat  you  aint  smart  enuff  ter 
get  no  money  outer  him,  fer  he's  bin  bled  by 
sich  coveys  like  you  all  he's  a-going  ter  bleed, 
an'  dat  he  don't  b'lieve  dere  is  any  sech  ting 


42  TIN-TYPES. 

as  de  Bugwug  estate  nohow,  an'  ef  yer  wants 
ter  keep  outen  jail  yer'd  better  let  him  an'  his 
folks  alone." 

Mr.  Jayres  scowled  until  it  seemed  as  if  his 
black  eyebrows  would  meet  his  bristly  upper 
lip,  and  then  he  said :  "Bootsey,  before  you 
come  to  the  office  to-morrow  morning  you'd 
better  go  to  the  Gallinipper  Laundry  in  Wash 
ington  Place,  and  tell  a  man  named  Tobey  who 
keeps  it,  that — er — that  I've  gone  out  of  town 
for  a  few  days,  Bootsey,  on  a  pressing  matter 
of  business." 


III. 

BLUDOFFSKI. 

friends  of  Mr.  Richard  O'Royster  al- 
1  ways  maintained  that  he  was  the  best  of 
good  fellows.  Many,  indeed,  went  so  far  as  to 
say  he  had  no  faults  whatever ;  and  while  such 
an  encomium  seems,  on  the  face  of  it,  to  be  ex 
travagant,  its  probability  is  much  strengthened 
by  the  fact  that  whatever  he  had  they  always 
came  into  the  possession  of  sooner  or  later.  If 
he  had  any  faults,  therefore,  they  must  have 
known  it.  They  would  never  have  allowed  any 
thing  so  valuable  as  a  fault  to  escape  them. 

Mr.  O'Royster  was  sitting,  one  afternoon,  in 
the  private  office  of  his  bankers,  Coldpin  & 
Breaker.  Mr.  Coldpin  sat  with  him,  discussing 
the  advisability  of  his  investing  $250,000  in  the 
bonds  of  the  East  and  West  Telegraph  Com 
pany.  It  was  a  safe  investment,  in  Mr.  Cold- 
pin's  judgment,  and  Mr.  O'Royster  was  about 
to  order  the  transaction  carried  out,  when 
the  office  door  was  thrust  open  and  a  long, 
black-bearded,  wiry-haired,  savage-looking  man 
walked  in. 

His  head  was  an    irregular  hump  set  fixedly 
43 


BLUDOFFSKI. 


44 


TIN-TYPES.  45 

on  his  shoulders  so  that  one  almost  expected  to 
hear  it  creak  when  he  moved  it.  His  eyes  were 
little,  and  curiously  stuck  on  either  side  of  his 
thick,  stumpy  nose,  as  if  it  were  only  by  the 
merest  accident  that-  they  hadn't  taken  a  posi 
tion  back  of  his  ears  or  up  in  his  forehead  or 
down  in  his  hollow  cheeks.  His  entrance  put 
a  sudden  and  disagreeable  stop  to  the  conversa 
tion.  Mr.  O'Royster  adjusted  his  eyeglass  and 
looked  with  a  sort  of  serene  curiosity  at  the 
man.  Mr.  Coldpin  moved  nervously  in  his 
chair. 

"Veil,"  the  fellow  said,  after  a  pause,  "I  haf 
come  to  sbeak  mit  you." 

"You  come  very  often,"  replied  Mr.  Coldpin 
in  a  mildly  remonstrative  tone. 

No  answer  was  returned  to  this  suggestion. 
The  intruder  simply  settled  himself  on  his  feet 
in  an  obstinate  sort  of  way. 

Mr.  Coldpin  produced  a  dollar-bill  and  hand 
ed  it  over,  remarking  testily,  "There,  now, 
I'm  very  busy!" 

"Nein,  nein !"  said  the  man.  "It  vas  not 
enough !" 

"Not  enough?" 

"I  vants  dwenty  tollar." 

"Oh,  come  now;  this  wont  do  at  all.  You 
mustn't  bother  me  so.  I  can't  be — " 

The    man    did  something  with   his    mouth. 


46  TIN-TYPES. 

Possibly  he  smiled.  Possibly  he  was  malev 
olently  disposed.  At  all  events,  whatever  his 
motive  or  his  humor,  he  did  something  with 
his  mouth,  and  straightway  his  two  rows  of 
teeth  gleamed  forth,  his  eyes  changed  their 
position  and  also  their  hue,  and  the  hollows  in 
his  cheeks  became  caverns. 

"Great  Caesar!"  cried  Mr.  O'Royster.  "Look 
here,  my  good  fellow,  now  don't !  If  you 
must  have  the  money,  we'll  try  to  raise  it. 
Don't  do  that.  Take  in  your  teeth,  my  man, 
take  'em  in  right  away,  and  we'll  see  what  we 
can  do  about  the  twenty." 

He  composed  his  mouth,  reducing  it  to  its 
normal  dimensions  and  arranging  it  in  its  nor-, 
mal  shape,  whereupon  Mr.  O'Royster,  drawing 
a  roll  of    bills    from  his   pocket,  counted  out 
twenty  dollars. 

Mr.  Coldpin  interposed.  "You  may  natur 
ally  think,  O'Royster,"  he  observed  quietly, 
"that  this  man  has  some  hold  upon  me  by 
which  he  is  in  a  position  to  extort  money. 
There  is  no  such  phase  to  this  remarkable  case. 
I  owe  him  nothing.  He  is  simply  in  the  habit 
of  coming  here  and  demanding  money,  which  I 
have  let  him  have  from  time  to  time  in  small 
sums  to — well,  get  rid  of  him.  I  think,  though, 
that  it's  time  to  stop.  You  must  not  give  him 
that  $20.  I  won't  permit  it.  Put  it  back  in — 


IT  WOULDN'T  HURT  HIM  TO  SHOOT  HIM. 


47 


48  TIN-TYPES. 

The  man  did  something  else  in  a  facial  way 
just  as  defiant  of  analysis  as  his  previous  con 
tortion  and  equally  effective  on  Mr.  O'Roy- 
ster's  nerves.  He  moved  toward  Mr.  O'Roy- 
ster  and  held  up  his  hand  for  the  money.  It 
was  slowly  yielded  up,  and  without  so  much  as 
an  acknowledgment,  the  man  thrust  it  into  his 
pocket  and  stalked  out. 

Mr.  O'Royster  watched  his  misshapen  body 
as  it  disappeared  through  the  entry.  Then 
he  gazed  at  the  banker  and  -finally  re 
marked  :  "Can't  say  that  your  friend  pleases 
me,  Coldpin." 

"To  tell  the  truth,  O'Royster,  I  live  in 
mortal  terror  of  that  creature.  He  followed 
me  into  this  room  from  the  street  one  day  and 
demanded,  rather  than  begged,  some  money.  I 
scarcely  noticed  him,  telling  him  I  had  nothing, 
when  he  did  something  that  attracted  my  at 
tention,  and  the  next  minute  my  flesh  began 
to  creep,  my  backbone  began  to  shake,  and  I 
thought  I  should  have  spasms.  I  gave  him  a 
handful  of  change  and  off  he  went.  Since 
then,  as  I  told  you,  he  has  been  coming  here 
every  month  or  so.  I'm  going  to  move  next 
May  into  a  building  where  I  can  have  a  more 
guarded  office." 

"Odd  tale!"  said  Mr.  O'Royster,  "deuced 
odd.  Why  don't  you  get  a  pistol?" 


TIN-TYPES.  49 

"Well,  I  have  a  sort  of  feeling  that  it 
wouldn't  hurt  him  to  shoot  him.  Of  course  it 
would,  you  know,  but  still — " 

"Yes,  I  know  what  you  mean.  He  certainly 
does  look  as  if  a  pistol  would  be  no  adequate 
defense  against  him.  What  you  want  is  a  nice, 
self-cocking,  automatic  thunderbolt." 

They  changed  the  subject,  returning  to  their 
interrupted  business,  and  having  concluded  that 
they  talked  on  until  it  had  grown  quite  late. 

"By  Jove!"  cried  Mr.  O'Royster,  glancing  at 
his  watch,  "it's  half-past  six,  and  I've  a  dinner 
engagement  at  the  club  at  seven.  I  must  be 
off.  Ring  for  a  cab,  wont  you?" 

The  cab  arrived  in  a  few  moments  and  Mr. 
O'Royster  hurried  out.  "Drive  me  to  the 
Union  Club,"  he  said,  "and  whip  up  lively." 

He  sprang  in,  the  cab  started  off  with  a 
whirl,  and  he  turned  in  his  seat  to  let  down  the 
window.  A  startled  look  came  into  his  face. 

"It's  too  dark  to  see  well,"  he.  said  to  him 
self,  "and  this  thing  bounces  like  a  tugboat  in 
a  gale,  but  if  that  ourang-outang  wasn't  stand 
ing  under  that  gaslight  yonder,  I'll  be  hanged  !" 

Mr.  O'Royster's  was  the  sort  of  mind  that 
dwelt  lightly  and  briefly  on  subjects  affecting 
it  disagreeably,  and  long  before  he  reached 
the  club  it  had  left  the  ourang-outang  far  in 
the  distance.  In  the  presence  of  a  jolly  com- 


50  TIN-TYPES. 

pany,  red-headed  duck,  burgundy  and  cham 
pagne,  it  had  room  for  nothing  but  wit  and 
frolic,  to  which  its  inclinations  always  strongly 
tended. 

The  night  had  far  advanced  when  Mr. 
O'Royster  left  the  club.  He  turned  into 
Fifth  Avenue,  journeying  toward  Twenty- 
third  Street,  and  had  walked  about  half  the  dis 
tance  when  he  felt  a  touch  upon  his  arm.  Mr. 
O'Royster  was  in  that  condition  when  his 
mental  senses  acted  more  quickly  than  his  phy 
sical  senses.  Bringing  his  eyes  to  bear  upon 
the  spot  where  he  felt  the  touch,  he  made  out 
the  shape  of  a  big,  dirty  hand,  and  following  it 
and  the  arm  above  it,  he  presently  ascertained 
that  a  man  was  close  at  his  elbow.  He  spent 
several  minutes  scrutinizing  the  man's  face,  and 
finally  he  said : 

"Ah,  I  shee.  Beg  pawdon,  dear  boy,  f'not 
'bsherving  you  b'fore.  Mos'  happy  to  renew 
zhe  'quaintance  so  auspishously  begun  'saffer- 
noon.  H — hie ! — 'ope  you're  feeling  well.  By 
zhe  way,  ol'  f 'Haw,  wha'  zhure  name  ?" 

"Bludoffski." 

"Razzer  hard  name  t'  pronounce,  but  easy 
one  t'  'member.  Glad  'tain't  Dobbins.  'F 
zenny  sing  I  hate,  's  name  like  Dobb'ns,  'r 
Wobb'ns,  *r  Wigg'ns.  Some-pin  highly  uncon 
ventional  in  name  of  Bludoffski.  Mr.  Bludoff- 


TIN-TYPES.  51 

ski,  kindly  'cept  'shurances  of  my — rhic! — 
gard !" 

Mr.  Bludoffski  executed  a  facial  maneuver 
intended  possibly  for  a  smile.  It  excited  Mr. 
O'Royster's  attention  directly. 

"Doffski!"  he  said,  stopping  shortly  and 
balancing  himself  on  his  legs,  "are  you  sure 
you're  feelin'  quite  well?" 

"Yah,  puty  veil." 

"Zere's  no  great  sorrer  gnawin'  chure  vitals, 
is  zere,  Moffski?" 

"I  vas  all  ride." 

"Not  sufferin'  fom  any  mad  r'gret,  'r  mis 
placed  love,  'rensing  zat  kind,  eh,  Woffski?" 

"No." 

"Feeling  jush  sanies'  ushyal?" 

"Yah." 

"Zen  'sail  right.  Don't  'pol'gize,  's  all  right. 
Zere  was  somepin'  'n  you're  looksh  made  me 
shink  p'raps  yu's  feeling  trifle  in'sposed.  /  am, 
an'  didn't  know  but  what  you  might  be  same 
way.  You  may've  noticed  't  I'm  jush  trifle — 
er,  well,  some  people  ud  shay  zhrunk,  Toffski — 
rude  'n'  dish'gree'ble  people  dshay  zhrunk. 
P'raps  zere  'bout  half  right,  Woffski,  but  it's 
zhrude  way  of  putting  it.  Now,  zhen,  I  want 
t'ask  you  queshun.  I  ask  ash  frien'.  Look  't 
me  carefully  and  shay,  on  y'r  honor,  Loffski, 
where  d'you  shin'  I'm  mos'  largely  'tossicated?" 


52  TIN-TYPES. 

"In  der  legs,"  replied  Mr.  Bludoffski,  prompt- 

ly. 

"Shank  you.  'S  very  kind.  'T  may  not  be 
alt'gesser  dignified  to  be  'tossicated  in  zhe  legs, 
but  's  far  besser'n  if  'twas  in  zhe  eyes.  'Spise 
a  man  'at  looks  drunk  in's  eyes.  Pos'ively 
'sgusting!" 

They  had  now  reached  Twenty-third  Street, 
and  following  his  companion's  lead,  O'Royster 
crossed  unsteadily  into  Madison  Square  and 
through  one  of  the  park  walks.  Presently  he 
halted. 

"By  zhe  way,  Woffski,"  he  said,  "do  you 
know  where  we're  goin'?" 

"Yah." 

"Well,  zat's  what  I  call  lucky.  I'm  free  t' 
confesh  I  haven't  gotter  shingle  idea.  But  'f 
you  know,  's  all  right.  Wen  a  man  feels  him 
self  slightly  'tossicated,  's  nozzin'  like  bein'  in 
comp'ny  of  flaw  'at  knows  where  's  goin'. 
'Parts  a  highly  'gree'ble  feelin'  'f  conf'dence. 
Don't  wanter  'splay  any  'pert'nent  cur'osity, 
Bofiski,  but  p'raps  's  no  harm  in  askin' 
where  'tis  'at  you  know  you're  goin'?" 

"Home." 

An  expression  of  disgust  crossed  Mr.  O'Roy- 
ster's  face.  "Home?"  he  inquired.  "D'  you 
shay  'home,'  Toffski?  Haven't  you  got  any 
uzzer  place  t'  go?  Wen  a  man'sh  r'duced  t' 


TIN-TYPES.  53 

th'  'str — hie — remity  'f  goin'  home,  must  be  in 
dev'lish  hard  luck." 

"Der  vhy  Ve  go  home,"  said  Bludoffski,  "is 
dot  I  somedings  haf  I  show  you." 

"Ah.  I  shee.  Za's  diff'rent  zing.  You're 
goin'  t'show  me  some-'zin',  eh?" 

"Yah." 

"Picshur?  Hope  'taint  pichshur,  Koffski. 
I'm  ord'narily  very  fon'  of  art,  but  flaw  needs 
good  legs  t'  'zamine  picshur,  an'  I'm  boun'ter 
confesh  my  legsh  not  just  'dapted  t' — " 

"Nein." 

"Eh?" 

"It  vasn't  noddings  like  dot." 

"'Taint  china,  is  't,  Boffski?  'Taint  Willow 
Pattern  er  Crown  Derby  er  zat  sorter  zing? 
T'  tell  truth,  Boffski,  I  aint  mush  on  china. 
Some  people  go  crashy  at  er  shight  er  piece 
nicked  china.  My  wife  tol'  me  zuzzer  day 
she  saw  piece  Crown  Derby  'n*  fainted  dead 
way,  'n'  r'fused  t'  come  to  f'r  half  'n  hour.  I 
said  I'd  give  ton  er  Crown  Derby  for  bash- 
ket  champagne  'n'  she  didn't  speak  to  me 
rester  'zhe  week.  Jush  shows  how  shum  peo 
ple—" 

"Nein!" 

"Eh?" 

"It  vasn't  shina." 

"By  zhove,  you 'rouse  my  cur'os'ty,  WofTski. 


54  TIN-TYPES. 

If  'tain't  picshur  er  piece  pottery,  wha'  deuce 
is't?" 

"You  shall  see." 

"Myst'ry!  Well,  I'm  great  boy  fr  myst'ries. 
Hullo!  Zis,  zh' place?" 

They  had  walked  through  Twenty-ninth 
Street,  into  Second  Avenue,  and  had  reached 
the  center  of  a  gloomy  and  dismal  block.  Di 
rectly  in  front  of  the  gloomiest  and  most  dis 
mal  house  of  all  Bludoffski  had  suddenly 
stopped,  and  in  answer  to  Mr.  O'Royster's  ex 
clamation,  he  drew  from  his  pocket  a  latch-key 
and  opened  the  side  door. 

The  entry  was  dark,  but  the  glimmer  of  a 
light  was  visible  at  the  end  of  the  hall.  He  did 
not  speak,  but  motioned  with  his  hand  an  invi 
tation  for  Mr.  O'Royster  to  go  in.  It  was  ac 
cepted,  not,  however,  without  a  slight  manifes 
tation  of  reluctance.  Mr.  O'Royster's  senses 
were  somewhat  clouded,  but  the  shadows  of 
the  entry  were  dark  enough  to  impress  even 
him  with  a  vague  feeling  of  dread. 

Bludoffski  shut  the  door  behind  them  care 
fully  and  drew  a  bolt  or  two.  Then  he  led  the 
way  down  the  hall  toward  the  light.  As  they 
advanced  voices  were  heard,  one  louder  than 
the  rest,  which  broke  out  in  rude  interruption, 
dying  down  into  a  sort  of  murmuring  accom 
paniment. 


TIN-TYPES.  55 

When  they  reached  the  end  of  the  hall  Blu- 
doffski  opened  another  door  and  they  entered 
a  large  beer  saloon.  At  a  score  of  tables  men 
were  sitting,  many  apparently  of  German  birth. 
They  were  smoking  pipes,  drinking  beer,  and 
listening  to  the  hoarse  voice  of  an  orator  stand 
ing  in  the  furthest  corner  of  the  room. 

He  was  a  little  round  man  with  little  round 
eyes,  a  little  round  nose,  a  little  round  stomach, 
and  little  round  legs.  Though  very  small  in 
person,  his  voice  was  formidable  enough,  and 
he  appeared  to  be  astonishingly  in  earnest. 

Bludoffski's  entrance  created  a  considerable 
stir.  Several  persons  began  to  applaud,  and 
some  said,  "Bravo!  bravo!"  One  sharp-vis- 
aged  and  angular  man  with  black  finger-nails, 
spectacles,  and  a  high  tenor  voice,  cried  out 
with  a  burst  of  enthusiasm,  "Hail!  Dear 
apostle  uf  luf!"  a  sentiment  that  brought  out 
a  general  and  spontaneous  cheer.  Mr.  O'Roy- 
ster,  apparently  under  the  impression  that  he 
was  the  object  of  these  flattering  attentions, 
bowed  and  smiled  with  the  greatest  cheerful 
ness  and  murmured  something  about  this  being 
the  proudest  moment  of  his  life.  He  was  on 
the  point  of  addressing  some  remarks  to  the 
bartender,  when  the  little  round  orator  cut  in 
with  an  energy  quite  amazing. 

"Der  zoshul  refolushun  haf  gome,  my  prud- 


"  VE   VILL   SHTRIKE,  MEIN   PRUDERS  ! 


TIN-TYPES.  57 

ders!"  he  said.  "Der  bowder  vas  all  retty 
der  match  to  be  struck  mit.  Ve  neet  noddings 
but  ter  stretch  out  mit  der  hant  und  der  vic 
tory  dake.  Der  gabitalist  fool  himselluf.  He 
say  mit  himselluf  'I  haf  der  golt  urid  der  bower, 
hey?'  He  von  pig  fool.  He  dinks  you  der 
fool  vas,  und  der  eye  uf  him  he  vinks  like  der 
glown  py  der  circus.  But  yust  vait.  Vait  till 
der  honest  sons  uf  doil  rise  by  deir  might  oop 
und  smite  der  blow  vich  gif  liperty  to  der  mill 
ions!" 

At  this  there  was  a  wild  outburst  of  applause 
and  a  chorus  of  hoarse  shouts:  "Up  mit  der 
red  flag!"  "Strike  now!"  "Anarchy  for- 
effer!" 

"Ve  vill  shtrike,  mine  prudders,"  continued 
the  little  round  orator,  growing  very  ardent  and 
red  in  the  face.  "Ve  vill  no  vait  long.  Ve  vill 
kill !  Ve  vill  burn !  Ve  vill  der  togs  uf  var 
loose  und  ride  to  driumph  in  der  shariot  uf  fire. 
Ve  vill  deir  housen  pull  down  deir  hets  upoud, 
und  der  street  will  run  mit  der  foul  plood  uf 
der  gabitalist !" 

A  mighty  uproar  arose  at  these  gory  sugges 
tions,  and  would  not  be  subdued  until  all  the 
glasses  had  been  refilled  and  the  enthusiasm 
that  had  been  aroused  was  quenched  in  beer. 

Mr.  O'Royster  had  listened  to  these  pro 
ceedings  with  some  misgivings.  He  turned  to 


58  TIN-TYPES. 

his  companion,  who  stood  solemn  and  silent  by 
his  side,  and  observed  : 

"D'  I  unnerstan'  you  t'  say,  Woffski,  't  you 
's  goin'  home?" 

"Yah." 

"Doncher  zhink  's  mos'  time  t'  go?" 

"Ve  vas  dere  now." 

"Home?" 

"Yah." 

"Can't  say  I'm  pleased  with  your  d'mestic 
surroundings,  Boffski.  Razzer  too  mush  noise 
f  man  of  my  temp'ment.  Guesh  I'll  haffer  bid 
you  g'night,  Boffski." 

"Nein." 

"Yesh,  Boffski,  mush  go.  Cotter  'gage- 
ment." 

"Vait.     I  haf  not  show  you  yet — ' 

"T'  tell  truf,  Moffski,  I've  seen  'nuff.  'F  I 
wasser  shee  more,  might  not  sleep  well. 
Might  have  nightmare.  Don't  shink  's  good 
f  me  t'  shee  too  much,  ol'  flaw." 

"Listen." 

The  little  round  orator,  refreshed  and  rein- 
vigorated,  began  again. 

"You  must  arm  yoursellef,  my  prudders. 
You  must  haf  guns  und  powder  und  ball 
und— " 

"Dynamite!"  yelled  several. 

"Yah.      Dot    vas   der  drue   veapon    uf   der 


TIN-TYPES.  59 

zoshul  refolushun.  Dynamite!  You  must 
plenty  haf.  Ve  must  avenge  der  murder  uf  our 
brudders  in  Shegaco.  Deir  innocent  plood 
gries  ter  heffen  for  revensh.  A  t'ousan'  lifes 
vill  not  der  benalty  bay.  Der  goundry  must 
pe  drench  mit  plood.  Den  vill  Anarchy  reign 
subreme  ofer  de  gabitalist  vampire !  Are  you 
retty?" 

The  whole  crowd  rose  in  a  body,  banged 
their  glasses  viciously  on  the  tables  in  front  of 
them  and  shouted:  "Ve  vas!" 

"Den  lose  no  time  to  rouse  your  frients. 
Vake  up  der  laporing  mans  all  eferywhere. 
Gif  dem  blenty  pomb  und  der  sicnal  vatch  for, 
und  ven  it  vas  gif  shoot  und  kill  und  spare 
nopoddy !  Der  time  for  vorts  vas  gone.  Now 
der  time  vas  for  teets!" 

"Loffski,"  whispered  Mr.  O'Royster,  "really 
must  'scuse  me,  Loffski,  but  's  time  er  go.  I 
have  sorter  feelin'  's  if  I's  gettin'  'tossercated 
in  zhe  eyes.  Always  know  's  time  er  go  when 
I  have  zat  feelin'.  F'  I'd  know  chure  home  's 
in  place  like  zis  I'd  asked  you  t'  go  t'  mine 
where  zere's  more  r — hie — pose." 

There  was  a  door  behind  them  near  the 
bar,  and  Bludoffski,  opening  it,  motioned  Mr. 
O'Royster  to  go  in  ahead.  He  obeyed,  not 
without  reluctance,  and  the  Anarchist  followed. 
Two  tables  covered  with  papers,  a  bed  and  sev- 


6o  TIN-TYPES. 

eral  chairs  were  in  the  room,  together  with 
many  little  jars,  bits  of  gaspipe,  lumps  of 
sulphur,  phosphorus  and  lead. 

"Sit  down,"  said  Bludoffski. 

Mr.  O'Royster  sat. 

"I  am  an  Anarchist,"  Bludoffski  began. 

"'S  very  nice,"  Mr.  O'Royster  replied.  "I 
's  zhinkin'  uzzer  day  'bout  bein'  Anarchis' 
m'self,  but  Mrs.  O'Royster  said  she's  'fraid  m' 
health  washn't  good  'nuff  f  such — hie — heavy 
work." 

"You  hear  der  vorts  uf  dot  shbeaker  und 
you  see  der  faces  uf  der  men.  Vat  you  t'ink  it 
mean?  Hey?  It  mean  var  upon  der  reech. 
It  mean  Nye  Yorick  in  ashes — " 

"Wha's  use?  Don't  seem  t'  me  s'  t'  would 
pay.  Of  course,  ol'  flaw,  whatever  you  says, 
goes.  But  't  seems  t'  me — 

"You  can  safe  all  dot  var.  You  can  der 
means  be  uf  pringing  aboud  der  reign  uf 
anarchy  mitout  der  shtrike  uf  von  blow. 
Eferypody  vill  lif  und  pe  habby." 

"  Boffski,"  said  Mr.  O'Royster,  after  a 
pause,  during  which  he  seemed  to  be  making 
a  violent  effort  to  gather  his  intellectual 
forces.  "Zere's.no  doubt  I'm  'tossercated  in 
zhe  eyes.  Wen  a  man's  eyes  'fected  by 
champagne,  he's  liter'ly  no  good.  Talk  to 
me  'bout  zis  t'mor',  Woffski.  Subjec's  too 


TIN-TYPES.  6 1 

'mportant  to  be  d'scussed  unner  present  condi 
tions." 

"Nein  !  nein  !  You  can  safe  der  vorlt  uf  you 
vill.  Von  vort  from  you  vill  mean  peace.  Mid- 
outdt  dot  vort  oceans  of  plood  vill  be  spill." 

"Woffski,  you  ev'dently  zhink  I  zhrunker  'n  I 
am.  I'm  some  zhrunk,  Woffski,  I  know,  some 
zhrunk,  but  'taint  's  bad's  you  zhink." 

"I  vill  sbeak  more  blain." 

"Do,  ol'  flaw,  'f  you  please." 

"It  vas  selfishness  vot  der  vorld  make  pad. 
It  was  being  ignorant  und  selfish  vot  crime  und 
bofferty  pring  to  der  many  und  vealth  und  ease 
to  der  few.  Der  beoples  tondt  see  dot.  Tey 
tondt  know  vot  Anarchy  mean.  It  vas  all 
rest,  all  peace,  nopoddy  pad,  no  var,  no  bcsti- 
lence.  Dot  is  Anarchy,  hey? 

"I  haf  my  life  gif  to  der  cause  uf  Anarchy. 
I  haf  dravel  der  vorlt  over  shbeaking,  wriding, 
delling  der  beoples  to  make  vay  for  der  zoshul 
refolushun.  Uf  dey  vill  not,  ve  must  der  reech 
kill.  We  must  remofe  dem  vich  stand  py 
der  roat  und  stay  der  march  of  civilization. 
Some  say  'Make  haste!  kill!  kill!'  I  say, 
'Nein,  vait,  gif  der  wretched  beoples  some 
chance  to  be  safe.  Tell  dem  vot  is  Anarchy. 
Etjucade  dem.' 

"Veil,  den,  dey  listen  to  me.  Dey  say,  'Ve 
bow  der  vill  before  uf  Herr  Bludoffski,  whose 


62  TIN-TYPES. 

vordt  vas  goot.  Ve  vait.  But  how  long?  Ah, 
dat  I  can  not  tell.  But  I  have  decide  I  make 
von  appeal.  I  gif  der  vorlt  von  chance  to  come 
ofer  to  Anarchy  and  be  save.  Ha !  Se !  I  haf 
write  a  pook !  I  haf  say  der  pook  inside  all  apout 
Anarchy.  I  haf  tell  der  peauties  of  der 
commune,  vere  no  selfishness  vas,  no  law,  but 
efery  man  equal  und  none  petter  as  some 
udder.  I  haf  describe  it  all.  Nopody  can 
dot  pook  reat  mitout  he  say  ven  he  lay 
him  down,  'I  vil  be  an  Anarchist.', 

Mr.  Bludoffski  had  become  intensely  inter 
ested  in  his  own  remarks.  He  picked  his  man 
uscripts  from  the  table  and  caressed  them 
lovingly. 

"See,"  he  said,  "dere  vas  der  pook  vich 
make  mankind  brudders.  I  tell  you  how  you 
help.  I  vas  poor.  I  haf  no  money.  I  lif  on 
noddings,  und  dem  noddings  I  peg.  Ven  I  see 
you  und  you  dot  money  gif  me,  I  say  'Dis  man 
he  haf  soul !  He  shall  be  save.'  Den  I  say 
more  as  dot.  I  say  he  shall  join  his  hand  mit 
me.  He  shall  print  him,  den  million  copies, 
send  him  de  vorlt  ofer,  in  all  der  lankviches, 
to  all  der  peoples.  Dink  uf  dot !  You  shall  be 
great  Anarchist  as  L  Ve  go  down  mit  fame 
togedder'" 

He  paused  for  Mr.  O'Royster's  reply,  trem- 


"HE  HAF  NO   SOUL,   NO   HEART,   NO  MIND,    NO  NODDINGS. 


64  TIN-TYPES. 

bling  with  fanatical  excitement.  The  reply 
was  somewhat  slow  in  coming.  Mr.  O'Royster, 
when  his  companion  began  to  talk,  had  leaned 
his  head  on  his  arm  and  closed  his  eyes.  He 
had  preserved  this  attitude  throughout  the 
address  and  was  now  breathing  hard. 

"Veil !"  said  Bludoffski,  impatiently. 

Mr.  O'Royster  drew  a  more  resonant  breath, 
long,  deep  and  mellow. 

"He  sleep  !"  cried  Bludoffski,  in  scornful  fury. 
"Der  tog!  He  sleep  ven  I  tell  him — 

He  sprang  up,  ran  across  the  room  and  re 
turned  with  a  huge  carving-knife.  "I  vill  kill 
him !"  he  cried,  and,  indeed,  made  start  to  do 
it.  But  as  suddenly  he  checked  himself, 
tossed  the  knife  on  the  floor,  muttering,  "Bah, 
he  not  fit  to  kill,"  and  opened  the  door  into 
the  saloon.  The  Anarchist  meeting  had  ended, 
but  several  persons  were  still  sitting  around 
the  tables,  drinking  beer.  He  called  to  two  of 
these,  and  said,  in  a  tone  of  almost  pitful 
despair: 

"Take  dot  man  home.  I  not  know  who  he 
vas.  I  not  know  vere  he  lif.  Somebotty  fin' 
oud.  Look  his  pockets  insite.  Ask  der 
boleecemans.  Do  any  dings,  but  take  him 
avay.  He  haf  no  soul,  no  mind,  no  heart,  no 
noddings !" 


IV. 
MAGGIE. 

WRAPPED  in  contemplation  and  but  little 
else,  probably  because  his  stock  of  con 
templation  largely  exceeded  his  stock  of  else, 
Mr.  Dootleby  wandered  down  the  Bowery. 
Midnight  sounded  out  from  the  spire  in  St. 
Mark's  Church  just  as  Mr.  Dootleby,  having 
come  from  Broadway  through  Astor  Place, 
turned  about  at  the  Cooper  Union. 

There  was  a  touch  of  melancholy  in  Mr. 
Dootleby's  expression  as  he  looked  down  the 
big,  brilliant  Bowery,  glowing  with  the  light  of  a 
hundred  electric  burners  and  myriads  of  gas- 
jets,  and  seething  with  unnatural  activity.  He 
stopped  a  moment  in  the  shadow  thrown  by 
the  booth  of  a  coffee  and  cake  vender,  and 
looked  attentively  into  the  faces  of  the  throngs 
that  passed  him.  He  seemed  to  be  thinking 
hard. 

In  truth,  it  is  a  suggestive  place,  is  the  Bow 
ery.  Day  and  night  are  all  the  same  to  it.  It 
never  gets  up  and  it  never  goes  to  bed.  It 
never  takes  a  holiday.  It  never  keeps  Lent. 
It  indulges  in  no  sentiments.  It  acknowl- 
65 


MR.    DOOTLEBY. 


TIN-TYPES.  67 

edges  no  authority  that  bids  it  remember  the 
Sabbath  Day  to  keep  it  holy.  But  from  year's 
end  to  year's  end  it  bubbles,  and  boils,  and 
seethes,  and  frets  while  the  daylight  lasts,  and 
in  the  glare  of  its  brighter  night  it  plunges 
headlong  into  carousal ! 

Mr.  Dootleby  had  a  great  habit  of  walking  at 
night,  though  he  seldom  came  down  town  so 
far  as  this.  His  apartments  were  in  Harlem, 
and  usually,  after  he  had  taken  his  dinner  and 
played  a  rubber  of  whist,  he  found  himself 
sufficiently  exercised  by  a  stroll  as  far  as  Forty- 
second  Street.  But  to-night  he  felt  a  trifle 
restless,  and  journeyed  on. 

Though  his  hair  was  nearly  white  and  his 
face  somewhat  deeply  furrowed,  Mr.  Dootle 
by 's  tall  heavy  figure  stood  straight  toward  the 
zenith,  and  moved  with  an  ease  and  celerity 
that  many  a  younger  man  had  envied.  With 
his  antecedents  I  am  not  entirely  familiar,  but 
they  say  he  was  always  eccentric.  I,  for  my 
part,  shall  like  him  none  the  less  for  this. 
They  say  he  was  rich  once,  but  that  he  never 
knew  how  to  take  care  of  his  money,  and  what 
part  of  it  he  did  not  give  away  slipped  off  of 
its  own  accord. 

They  say  he  was  past  fifty  when  he  married, 
and  his  bride  was  a  young  woman,  and  when 
they  went  off  together  he  was  as  frisky  as  a. 


68  TIN-TYPES. 

young  fellow  of  twenty-three.  Then,  they  say, 
she  died,  and  after  that  he  took  but  little  inter 
est  in  things,  spending  his  time  chiefly  in  such 
amiable  pursuits  as  the  entertainment  of  the 
children  playing  in  Central  Park,  and  the  writ 
ing  of  an  occasional  article  for  the  scientific 
papers,  on  "The  Peculiar  Behavior  of  Alloys." 

Despite  the  dinginess  of  his  costume,  Mr. 
Dootleby  was  a  handsome  old  man,  and  he 
looked  very  out  of  place  on  the  Bowery.  Not 
that  good  looks  are  wanting  in  the  Bowery,  for 
many  a  crownless  Cleopatra  mingles  with  its 
crowds.  But  Mr.  Dootleby,  as  he  stood  in 
the  shadow  of  the  coffee-vender's  booth, 
seemed  to  be  the  one  kind  of  being  neces 
sarily  incongruous  with  the  midnight  Bowery 
spectacle. 

Mr.  Dootleby  stood  and  looked  for  full 
twenty  minutes.  In  some  of  the  faces  that 
passed  him  he  saw  only  a  careless  sensuality 
brightened  by  the  flush  of  excitement.  Oth 
ers,  somewhat  older,  were  full  of  brazen  coarse 
ness,  and  others,  older  still,  bore  that  pitiful 
look  of  hopeless  regret,  quickly  changing  to 
one  that  says  as  plainly  as  can  be  that  the  time 
for  thinking  and  caring  has  gone.  Upon  many 
was  stamped  the  brand  of  inborn  infamy,  their 
only  inheritance. 

Some  hunted  souls  went  by,  their  manner 


TIN-TYPES. 


69 


jaded  and  hapless,  their  steps  nervous  and 
irresolute,  and  their  eyes  sweeping  the  streets 
before  them,  never  resting,  never  closed.  A 


THE  BOWERY   NIGHT-SCENE. 


few  as  they  passed  scowled  at  him — even  at 
him,  as  if  there  were  not  one  in  all  this  world 
upon  whom  they  had  not  declared  war.  Want 
had  marked  most  of  them  with  unmistakable 


70  TIN-TYPES. 

lines,  and  crossing  these  were  often  others  tell 
ing  that  they  knew  no  better  than  they  did. 

Mr.  Dootleby  watched  awhile  and  then  went 
on,  pausing  occasionally  at  the  corners  to  peer 
through  the  dark  side  streets,  up  at  the  big 
tenement-houses — those  ugly  nurseries  of  vice 
— from  whose  black  shadows  came  many  of 
these  that  had  been  christened  into  crime.  But 
in  the  Bowery  itself  there  was  no  gloomy 
spot.  Light  streamed  from  every  window, 
and  flooded  the  pavements.  The  street-cars 
whirled  along.  Even  the  bony  creatures  that 
drew  them  caught  the  spirit  of  this  feverish 
thoroughfare.  From  every  other  doorway, 
shielded  by  cloth  or  wicker  screens,  came  the 
sounds  of  twanging  harps  and  scraping  fiddles, 
the  click  of  glasses  and  the  shrill  chatter  and 
laughter  of  discordant  voices. 

Here  and  there,  in  front  of  a  bewildering 
canvas,  upon  which,  in  the  gayest  of  gay  colors, 
mountainous  fat  women,  prodigious  giants, 
scaly  mermaids,  wild  men  from  Zululand,  living 
skeletons,  and  three-headed  girls  were  painted, 
stood  clamorous  gentlemen  in  tights,  urgently 
importuning  passers-by  to  enter  the  establish 
ments  they  represented,  whereof  the  glories 
and  mysteries  could  be  but  too  feebly  told  in 
words.  And  upon  the  sidewalks  all  about  him, 
swarms  of  itinerant  musicians,  instantaneous 


TIN-TYPES.  71 

photographers,  dealers  in- bric-a-brac,  toilet  arti 
cles,  precious  stones,  soda  water,  and  other 
needful  and  nutritious  wares,  urged  themselves 
upon  Mr.  Dootleby's  attention. 

He  walked  leisurely  on,  moralizing  as  he 
went,  until  he  had  passed  Chatham  Square, 
and  had  got  into  the  somberer  district  below. 
He  turned  a  corner  somewhere,  thinking  to 
walk  around  the  block  and  find  his  way  back 
into  the  Bowery.  But  the  more  corners  he 
rounded  the  more  he  found  ever  at  his  elbow, 
and  the  conviction  began  to  make  its  way  into 
his  mind  that  he  had  lost  his  bearings. 

The  block  in  which  he  was  now  wandering 
was  quite  dark  and  dismal,  save  for  a  single 
gas-jet  hanging  almost  hidden  within  a  dirty 
globe,  over  some  steep  steps  that  led  into  a 
cellar.  Mr.  Dootleby  concluded  to  stop  there 
and  ask  his  way.  As  he  approached  the  cellar, 
he  heard  what  seemed  to  be  cries  of  distress. 
They  grew  more  distinct,  and  accompanying 
them  were  the  dull  sounds  of  blows  and  the 
harsh  accents  of  a  man's  voice,  evidently  per 
meated  with  rage. 

Mr.  Dootleby  ran  down  the  steps  and  flung 
the  door  open,  presenting  his  eyes  with  a  spec 
tacle  that  made  his  blood  run  cold.  The  room 
was  long  and  narrow.  At  one  end  and  near 
the  door  was  a  bar  fitted  up  with  a  few  black 


7  2  TIX-  TYPES. 

bottles  and  broken  .tumblers,  a  keg  or  two  of 
beer,  and  some  boxes  of  cigars.  Along  the 
walls  stood  a  couple  of  benches,  and  further  on 
were  half  a  dozen  little  rooms,  partitioned  from 
each  other,  all  opening  into  the  bar-room.  On 
the  benches  six  girls  were  lolling  about,  dressed 
in  gaudy  tights,  and  with  them  were  three  or 
four  men.  The  room  was  hot  to  suffocation, 
and  the  smell  from  the  dim  and  dirty  lamps 
that  stood  on  each  end  of  the  bar,  together 
with  the  foul  tobacco-smoke  with  which  the 
atmosphere  was  saturated,  combined  to  make 
the  place  disgusting  and  poisonous. 

All  these  conditions  Mr.  Dootleby  took  in. 
at  his  first  glance,  and  his  second  fell  upon  two 
figures  in  the  center  of  the  room,  from  whom 
had  preceded  the  noises  he  had  heard.  One 
was  that  of  a  girl  cowering  on  her  knees  and 
moaning  in  a  voice  from  which  reason  had 
clearly  departed.  A  big,  unconscionably  bru 
tal-looking  man  stood  over  her,  holding  her 
down  by  her  hair,  which,  braided  in  a  single 
plait,  was  wound  about  his  hand.  He  had  just 
thrown  the  stick  upon  the  floor  with  which  he 
had  been  beating  her,  and  was  drawing  from 
the  stove  a  red-hot  poker. 

Mr.  Dootleby  was  not  of  an  excitable  tem 
perament  ordinarily,  but  his  senses  were  so 
affected  by  the  horrors  he  saw  and  the  pesti- 


THE  FELLOW   WHEELED   QUICKLY  AROUND. 


73 


74  TIN-TYPES. 

lential  air  he  breathed  that  his  head  began  to 
swim,  and  only  by  an  especial  draft  upon  his 
resolution  was  he  able  to  command  himself. 
There  was  a  pause  consequent  upon  his  en 
trance,  and  his  quick  eyes  made  good  use  of  it. 

He  saw  that  the  girl  had  already  been  half 
murdered,  and  that  her  assailant  was  a  short, 
thick-set  old  man,  with  the  eyes  of  a  snake  and 
the  neck  of  a  bull.  He  saw  that  the  men  on 
the  bench,  all  beastly  specimens,  were  contem 
plating  her  torture  with  an  indifference  that 
would  have  shamed  the  grossest  savage.  Sev 
eral  of  the  women,  too — the  older  ones — were 
looking  on  with  scarcely  the  sign  of  a  protest 
in  their  faces,  and  only  one,  a  mere  child, 
seemed  to  feel  a  genuine  sense  of  terror  and 
sympathy. 

Mr.  Dootleby  threw  open  his  coat,  tightened 
his  grasp  on  his  walking-stick,  and  said,  very 
quietly:  "What  are  you  doing?" 

The  fellow  wheeled  quickly  around.  He 
looked  with  intense  malice  at  Mr.  Dootleby, 
and  then  shouted  at  one  of  the  women,  "Why 
didencher  lock  de  door  like  I  toljer,  you  fool?" 

Mr.  Dootleby  did  not  wait  for  either  of  these 
questions  to  be  answered.  He  sprang  into 
action  with  all  the  agility  and  ferocity  of  a 
young  panther.  The  handle  of  his  cane  was  a 
huge  knob  of  carved  ivory.  He  brought  it 


TIN-TYPES.  75 

directly  on  the  head  of  the  ruffian  in  a  blow  of 
tremendous  force,  and  as  the  fellow  staggered, 
Mr.  Dootleby  grasped  the  poker,  turning  it  so 
that  its  heated  end  touched  his  antagonist's 
arm.  Of  course,  the  man  loosened  his  hold, 
and  in  an  instant  more  dropped  upon  the  floor. 
Then  Mr.  Dootleby,  keenly  alive  to  the  neces 
sity  of  improving  every  second,  caught  the 
prostrate  girl  by  the  arm  and  threw  her  behind 
him  toward  the  open  door.  "Run  for  your 
life!"  he  said. 

But  she  didn't  run.  She  couldn't  run,  and 
while  she  was  struggling  to  get  upon  her  feet, 
the  fellow  recovered  himself  and  emitted  a  roar 
that  acted  on  her  terrified  soul  as  if  it  had  been 
a  blow.  She  fell  incontinently  upon  her  back 
in  a  dead  swoon. 

Mr.  Dootleby's  situation  was  perilous.  He 
had  hoped  by  a  sudden  and  overwhelming 
attack  to  stun  the  man  and  get  the  girl 
out  into  the  street.  But  the  man's  quick 
recovery  and  the  girl's  exhaustion  left  him  in 
almost  as  bad  a  situation  as  ever,  and  he 
glanced  apprehensively  at  the  party  upon  the 
benches. 

They  had  scarcely  stirred !  One  of  the 
men,  indeed,  had  risen,  and  was  standing  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  something  in 
the  nature  of  an  amused  smile  upon  his  face. 


?6  TIN-TYPES. 

The  others  had  so  far  shifted  their  positions 
as  to  be  the  better  able  to  see  whatever  went 
on,  and  only  one  of  them  manifested  the  slight 
est  desire  to  take  a  hand  in  the  proceedings. 
This  was  the  little  girl  of  twelve  or  fourteen. 
She  was  intensely  excited,  and  in  the  mo 
ment's  pause  that  succeeded  Mr.  Dootleby's  on 
slaught  she  dashed  across  the  room,  and  lifting 
the  head  of  the  unconscious  girl,  rested  it  on 
her  knee,  and  stroked  it  soothingly. 

"Good  for  you,  my  child !"  said  Mr.  Doo- 
tleby.  "Try  to  bring  her  to." 

The  hideous  old  scoundrel,  as  he  now  turned 
again  to  confront  Mr.  Dootleby,  was  more  hid 
eous  than  ever.  Blood  from  the  wound  in  his 
head  was  trickling  over  his  face,  into  which 
the  fury  of  a  legion  of  devils  was  concentra 
ted.  "Sissy!"  he  bellowed,  "go  back  to  yer 
bench !" 

"Don't  do  it,  my  child,"  said  Mr.  Dootleby. 
"You're  all  right.  Run  outside  if  it  gets  too 
dangerous  for  you  in  here." 

The  fellow  gathered  himself  together,  evi 
dently  intending  to  dash  past  Mr.  Dootleby 
toward  the  bar  beyond.  But  Mr.  Dootleby 
lifted  the  poker  ominously.  "Stand  back !"  he 
cried. 

A  slight  chuckle  came  from  the  man  who  had 
risen  from  the  bench.  "Dey  don't  seem  ter  be 


TIN-TYPES.  77 

no  flies  on  dis  party,  Pete!"  he  said,  with  a 
broad  grin. 

Pete's   answer    was   a  scowl   and    an    oath. 

"W'y  doncher  come  on,  an'  help  me  do  him 
up?"  he  snorted. 

"Wot  ud  be  de  use?  I  t'ink  he  kin  get  away 
wid  you,  Pete,  an'  I  wanter  see  de  fun.  He's 
chain  lightnin',  ole  man,  an'  you  better  be  sure 
of  yer  holt." 

"I'll  give  all  dere  is  on  him  if  you'll  help, 
Dick!"  said  Pete. 

Mr.  Dootleby  took  his  watch,  his  gold  pencil, 
and  a  dollar  or  so  in  change  from  his  pockets, 
and  tossed  them  toward  Dick. 

"That's  all  I've  got,"  he  said.  "Now,  let  us 
alone." 

Dick  slid  the  coins  in  his  pocket  and  care 
fully  examined  the  gold  watch.  "Dere's  a 
good  'eal  er  sportin'  blood  in  de  old  genTman, 
Pete;  a  good  'eal  er  sportin'  blood,"  he  re 
marked,  with  the  utmost  cheerfulness.  "Bein* 
a  sportin'  man  myself  I  ainter  goin'  back  on 
a  frien'." 

"You're  goin'  back  on  your  word  fast 
enough  !"  said  Pete  bitterly. 

"No,  I  aint.  I  toljer  I  wouldn't  bodder 
you.  I  didn't  guarantee  nobody  else.  You 
sed  she  was  yourn,  and  you  was  goin'  to  make 
her  promise  to  quit  young  Swiggsy.  I  offered 


7 8  TIN-TYPES, 

to  match  you  five  dollars  agin  de  gurl,  an'  I 
said  if  you  was  to  win  I  wouldn't  trouble  you. 
You  said  if  I  winned  I  could  have  her.  All 
right.  I  lost,  an'  I  give  up  my  good  money. 
Den  you  went  ter  work  wallopin'  de  gurl. 
You'd  er  kilt  her  if  dis  covey  hadn't  er  lit  in. 
All  right,  dat  wasn't  no  fault  er  mine.  An'  fur 
all  me,  he  kin  stick  dat  blazin'  iron  clear  down 
yer  t'roat,  an'  I'll  set  yere  an'  take  it  in  widout 
winkin'." 

Mr.  Dootleby  listened  intently  to  this 
speech.  It  afforded  him  an  inkling  of  the 
situation. 

"Is  this  girl  your  daughter?"  he  said. 

Pete  was  in  no  humor  to  parley.  He  could 
only  growl  and  swear.  When  he  had  relieved 
himself  without  enlightening  Mr.  Dootleby, 
Dick  spoke  again. 

"She  ain't  nobody's  darter,  ole  gent,  but  he 
sez  she's  his  gurl.  She  been  keepin'  comp'ny 
wid  young  Swiggsy,  an'  she  wont  promise  not 
ter.  Dat's  de  whole  biznuss.  De  harder  he 
walloped,  de  more  she  wouldn't  promise." 

Mr.  Dootleby  felt  in  his  arms  the  strength 
of  a  whole  army  corps.  "Look  here,"  he  said 
to  Dick,  "will  you  promise  me  fair  play?" 

"Dey  wont  nobody  interfere  widjer,"  Dick 
replied.  "I'll  be  de  empire,  an'  I  t'ink  I  kin  ref 
eree  a  mill  'long  er  de  bes'.  Sail  right  in,  ole 


TIN-TYPES.  79 

gent.  The  gurl  stan's  fer  de  di'mun'  belt.  If 
you  knocks  out  yer  man,  she's  yourn.  If  he 
licks  you,  an'  has  any  strength  left,  he  kin  go  on 
wid  his  wallopin'." 

"Sissy's"  soothing  hand  and  the  fresh  air 
coming  through  the  door  had  brought  back  life 
into  the  girl's  limp  body.  She  was  still  weak 
and  prostrate,  lying  at  full  length  on  the  floor, 
with  her  head  supported  upon  Sissy's  shoulder. 

She  was  a  brilliant  type  of  the  ignorant  and 
vicious  population  which  overflows  the  tene 
ments  in  certain  downtown  districts  and  fur 
nishes  the  largest  element  in  the  city's  criminal 
society.  Her  eyes  were  large,  and  must  have 
been,  under  better  conditions,  full  of  light  and 
expression. 

Even  now,  when  great  lumps,  dark  and  burn 
ing  with  inflammation,  stood  out  upon  her 
forehead,  and  heavy  sashes  of  black  circled  her 
eyes,  while  all  the  rest  of  her  face  was  white 
and  bloodless  and  cruelly  distorted  with  pain — 
even  now  there  was  a  kind  of  beauty  about  her 
that  gave  her  rank  above  the  class  to  which  con 
ditions,  more  forceful  than  laws,  condemned  her. 

Condemned?  Yes,  condemned;  why  not? 
What  did  she  know  of  the  science  of  morals, 
of  souls,  or  revelations,  or  higher  laws?  Who 
had  ever  mentioned  these  things  to  her.  What 
had  she  to  do  with  questions  of  right  and 


8o  TIN-TYPES. 

wrong?  What  was  right  to  her  but  gratifica 
tion,  or  wrong  but  want?  What  was  passion 
but  nature  pent  up,  or  crime  but  congested 
nature  suddenly  set  free? 

She  spoke  a  Christian  tongue.  She  wore  a 
Christian  dress.  Her  heart  answered  to  the 
same  emotions  that  quicken  or  deaden  the  beat 
of  other  breasts.  She  had  tears  to  shed,  hopes 
to  excite,  passions  to  burn,  desires  to  gratify. 
Nature  had  denied  her  none  of  the  faculties 
that  give  beauty  and  grace  and  dignity  and 
sweetness  to  another.  Even  as  she  lay 
stretched  on  the  floor  of  a  dive  in  the  heart  of 
a  Christian  city,  but  remoter  from  influences 
that  encourage  the  good  and  repress  the  bad  in 
her  nature  than  if  she  were  standing  in  the 
darkest  jungle  of  Africa — even  there,  degraded, 
ignorant,  and  infinitely  wretched,  she  was  a 
martyr  to  the  very  virtues,  truth  and  con 
stancy,  of  which  she  knew  the  least ! 

Some  such  reflections  as  these  were  flitting 
through  Mr.  Dootleby's  mind  as  he  glanced 
down  upon  her,  and  then  turned  to  his  enraged 
antagonist,  who  was  standing  ever  alert  for  a 
chance  to  recover  his  victim. 

"Look  here,"  said  Mr.  Dootleby.  "Let's 
come  to  terms  about  this  affair.  You  can  see 
for  yourself  that  the  girl  is  half  dead.  You 
don't  want  to  kill  her  outright,  I'm  sure." 


TIN-TYPES.  %l 

"'Tain't  no  biznuss  of  yourn  if  I  do,"  the 
old  man  savagely  replied. 

"Maybe  not.  But  cool  off,  now,  and  be 
reasonable.  You'll  be  sorry  enough  for  what 
you've  done  already,  and  if  you  were  to 
do  more  you'd  have  to  stand  your  trial  for 
murder." 

'"Twont  be  for  murderin'  her  w'en  I  gits  in 
de  jug.  But  I'll  murder  you  if  yer  don't 
leave  dis  place  right  off." 

"I'm  not  going  to  leave  till  I  take  her 
with  me." 

"Den  you  wont  never  leave  alive." 

Pete  whipped  a  knife  from  his  pocket  and 
rushed  at  Mr.  Dootleby,  intending  to  over 
whelm  him  by  a  sudden  and  furio'us  attack. 
The  ivory  cane  again  came  into  action.  It 
struck  the  muscular  part  of  Pete's  arm  just  be 
low  the  shoulder.  The  knife  did  not  reach  its 
destination,  but  it  inflicted  an  ugly  wound  in 
Mr.  Dootleby's  hand.  Without  noticing  this,  he 
closed  in  on  his  foe,  pouring  all  the  resources 
of  his  powerful  frame  into  a  dozen  fierce  and 
well-directed  blows.  The  spectators  upon  the 
benches,  however  indifferent  while  the  brute 
had  been  maltreating  a  defenseless  girl,  were 
now  seized  with  a  panic.  Two  of  the  men 
slunk  out  into  the  street.  The  girls  rushed  to 
their  rooms,  threw  on  their  coats  and  street 


82  TIN-TYPES. 

dresses,  and  escaped  also.  The  battle  continued 
for  several  minutes,  each  man  fighting,  as  he 
knew,  for  his  life. 

Pete  was  a  great  human  beast.  He  was  far 
stronger  than  Mr.  Dootleby,  but  not  nearly  so 
quick  and  dexterous.  The  blow  on  his  right 
arm  placed  him  at  a  great  disadvantage.  Mr. 
Dootleby  knew  he  could  not  fight  long.  Every 
second  drew  heavily  upon  his  vitality.  But  he 
made  no  useless  expenditure  of  his  strength. 
His  blows  were  intelligently  directed  toward 
the  accomplishment  of  a  specific  object  in 
the  disabling  of  his  enemy,  and  each  of  them 
did  its  appointed  work.  At  last  expos 
ing  himself  by  a  sudden  lunge,  Pete  was 
thrown,  and  he  did  not  rise.  He  was  uncon 
scious. 

So  was  Mr.  Dootleby — almost.  His  head 
swam  and  he  leaned  heavily  against  the  wall  for 
support.  The  blood  was  dripping  from  several 
ugly  wounds,  but  he  revived  as  he  heard 
Dick  remark:  "Dat  was  a  beauterful  mill. 
All  right.  Bein'  a  sportin'  man  myself,  I  t'ink 
I  knows  a  good  mill  w'en  I  sees  one.  De  di'- 
mun'  belt,  ole  man,  is  yourn.  All  right.  Hello  ! 
W'y,  where's  de  trophy  gone?" 

Mr.  Dootleby  opened  his  one  available  eye, 
and  saw  that  the  only  persons  in  the  room  were 
himself,  his  beaten  enemy,  and  Dick. 


TIN-TYPES.  83 

"What's  this  mean?"  he  cried.  "You  pledged 
your  word  on  fair  dealings." 

Dick  called  on  all  the  saints  to  witness  that 
he  did  not  know  where  the  girl  had  gone. 
"De  whole  crowd  cleared  out,"  he  said,  "w'en 
de  hustlin'  begun.  But  she  can'ter  gone  fur.  I 
reckon  if  you  go  out  in  de  street  you'll  fin'  her 
and  de  kid  wot's  helpin'  her  around  somewheres. 
I'll  sponge  off  Pete,  an'  try  ter  patch  up  wot's 
lef  of  him.  All  right." 

Mr.  Dootleby  was  not  slow  to  act  upon  this 
suggestion.  He  bent  over  the  still  prostrate 
Pete  and  tried  to  ascertain  if  his  pulse  was 
beating.  It  not  being  immediately  apparent 
whether  it  was  or  not,  and  Mr.  Dootleby  not 
caring  about  it  a  great  deal  anyhow,  he  caught 
up  his  hat  and  coat  and  hurried  away. 

Sissy  was  watching  for  him  from  behind  a 
tree  across  the  street,  and  she  came  toward  him 
running. 

"Maggie's  in  de  alley,  sir,  yonder  by  de  lamp, 
layin' derean'  moanin',  an'  I  t'ink  dey's  sumpin' 
wrong  wid  her,"  said  Sissy. 

She  led  him  to  the  spot  beyond  which  they 
had  not  been  able  to  escape,  where  Maggie  was 
lying  with  the  light  from  the  street  lamp 
shining  full  in  her  face.  Her  dress  was  torn  at 
the  neck,  for  she  had  not  been  costumed  as  the 
others  were,  and  the  cold,  wintry  night-air  was 


84  TIN-TYPES. 

blowing  on  her  bare  throat  and  breast.  Her 
big  eyes  had  lost  their  tlimness,  and  were  blaz 
ing  with  a  fire  kindled  by  a  wild  imagination. 
Mr.  Dootleby  took  off  his  hat  and  knelt  upon 
the  alley  stones,  and  threw  his  arms  around  her 
shoulders,  supporting  her.  She  looked  through 
him  at  some  one  not  present  but  beyond. 

"I  didn't  do  it,  Swiggsy,  an'  he  couldn't  'a' 
made  me  if  he'd  burned  my  eyes  out  like  he 
said  he  was  goin'  to !"  she  whispered  faintly. 
"But  he  used  me  rough,  Swiggsy,  an'  I'm — 
just — a  little — bit — tired." 

"Good  God  in  Heaven !"  murmured  Mr. 
Dootleby,  "look  upon  this  wavering  soul  in 
Thy  full  compassion.  She  is  tired,  so  very, 
very  tired." 

"And,  Swiggsy,  let's  go  somewheres  where 
he  can't  fin'  me,  cause  I'm  fearful  of  him. 
An'  you'll  get  steady  work,  Swiggsy,  tendin' 
bar,  an'  then — " 

She  closed  her  eyes,  and  for  several  moments 
lay  silent  and  still. 

"Swiggsy—" 

The  sound  was  faint  now,  and  Mr.  Dootleby 
bent  low  to  catch  it. 

"I  suspicion  something  ails  me  in  my  side, 
an'  I'm  falling,  falling,  falling —  Ketch  me, 
Swiggsy,  hold  me — I'm  honest  wid  you,  don't 
you  know  it.  Tell  me  so,  and  say  it  loud,  so's 


STARS  OF   THE  NIGHT,    ARE  YOU   WATCHING  HERE  ? 


86  TIN-TYPES. 

I  can  hear.     I'll  be  good  to  you  when  I  get — 
rested." 

The  street  is  empty.  Not  a  sound  is  heard. 
Not  a  footfall.  Not  a  voice.  The  world  is 
sleeping,  dreaming  of  its  own  ambitions.  Stars 
of  the  night,  are  you  watching  here? 

"You  said  you  t'ought  I  was  pretty,  Swiggsy, 
an'  it  made  me  so  glad  an'  happy,  'cause  I 
wants  you  to  think  I'm  pretty — ah !  where  are 
you  going!  Come  back!  come  back!  come 
back !  Don't  leave  me  all  alone,  please,  please 
don't,  for  I'm  falling  again,  fast,  faster  all  the 
time,  an'  I'll  soon  fall- 
She  opened  her  eyes  wide — wider  than  ever. 
She  looked  into  Mr.  Dootleby's  face  and 
smiled.  She  lifted  her  hand  and  dropped  it 
heavily  into  his.  Her  head  dropped  on  his 
shoulder.  She  had  fallen — out  of  human  sight ! 


V. 
THE  HON.  DOYLE   O'MEAGHER. 

AT  this  particular  moment  the  Hon.  Doyle 
O'Meagher  is  a  busy  man.  Tammany 
Hall's  nominating  convention  is  shortly  to  be 
held,  and  Mr.  O'Meagher  is  putting  the  finish 
ing  touches  upon  the  ticket  which  he  has  de 
cided  that  the  convention  shall  adopt.  The 
ticket,  written  down  upon  a  sheet  of  paper,  is 
before  him,  together  with  a  bottle  of  whisky 
and  a  case  of  cigars,  and  the  finishing  touches 
consist  of  little  pencil-marks  placed  opposite 
the  candidates'  names,  indicating  that  they 
have  visited  Mr.  O'Meagher  and  have  duly  paid 
over  their  several  campaign  assessments — a  pre 
liminary  formality  which  Mr.  O'Meagher  en 
forces  with  strict  impartiality.  The  amount  of 
each  assessment  depends  entirely  upon  Mr. 
O'Meagher's  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things.  To 
dispute  Mr.  O'Meagher's  sense  in  this  particu 
lar  is  looked  upon  as  treason  and  rebellion. 
In  the  case  of  the  Hon.  Thraxton  Wimples, 
the  intended  candidate  for  the  Supreme  Court, 
the  assessment  is  $20,000. 
87 


88  TIN-TYPES. 

Mr.  Wimples  is  a  little  man  of  profound  learn 
ing  and  ancient  lineage.  Mr.  O'Meagher  is  a  man 
of  indifferent  learning  and  no  lineage  to  speak 
of.  Mr.  Wimples's  grandfather  had  signed  the 
Declaration  of  Independence,  and  had  moved 
on  three  separate  occasions  that  the  Continen 
tal  Congress  do  now  adjourn,  while  no  reason 
whatever  existed,  other  than  the  one  most  ob 
vious  but  least  apt  to  occur  to  any  one,  for  sup 
posing  that  Mr.  O'Meagher  had  ever  had  a 
grandfather  at  all.  And  yet,  as  Mr.  Wimples, 
though  on  the  threshold  of  great  dignity  and 
power,  walks  into  Mr.  O'Meagher' s  presence, 
he  find  himself  all  of  a  tremble,  and  glows  and 
chills  chase  each  other  up  and  down  his  spinal 
column. 

"Ah,  Mr.  O'Meagher,"  he  says,  "good-morn 
ing!  Good-morning!  Happy  to  see  you  so — 
er — well.  Charming  day,  so  warm  for  the — er 
— season." 

"Yes,"  says  Mr.  O'Meagher,  "so  it  be." 

"I  received  your  notification  of  the  high — er 
— honor,  you  propose  to  confer  on  me." 

"Yes,"  says  Mr.  O'Meagher,  "you're  the  man 
for  the  place." 

"So  kind  of  you  to — er — say  so.  You  men 
tioned  that  the — er — assessment  was — 

"Twenty  thousand  dollars,"  says  Mr.  O'Mea 
gher,  with  great  promptness. 


JUST   SO,"    SAYS   MR.    WIMPLES,    "  JUST  SO. 


90  TIN-TYPES. 

"Just  so,"  says  Mr.  Wimples,  "just  so." 

"And  you've  called  to  pay  it,"  says  Mr. 
O'Meagher,  taking  up  his  list  and  his  pencil. 
"I've  been  expecting  you." 

"Ah,  yes,  to  be  sure,  of  course.  I  was  going 
to  propose  a — er — settlement." 

"A  what?"  says  Mr*.  O'Meagher  sharply. 

Mr.  Wimples  mops  his  brow.  The  fact  is," 
he  says,  "I  don't  happen  to  have  so  considerable 
a  sum  as  $20,000  at  the — er — moment,  and  I 
was  thinking  of  suggesting  that  I  just  pay  you, 
say,  $10,000  down,  and  give  you  two — er — 
notes." 

"Twont  do,"  says  Mr.  O'Meagher,  shaking 
his  head  and  fetching  his  pencil  down  upon 
the  table  with  a  smart  tap,  '"twont  do  at  all." 

"Eh?     Indorsed,  you  know,  by — 

"Mr.  Wimples,  that  $20,000  in  hard  cash 
must  be  in  my  hands  by  six  o'clock  to-night,  or 
your  name  goes  off  the  ticket." 

"O — er — Lud  !"  says  Mr.  Wimples,  sadly. 

"By  six  P.  M." 

"But,  my  dear  Mr.  O'Meagher— 

"Or  your  name  goes  off  the  ticket." 

Mr.  Wimples  groaned,  grasped  the  whisky 
bottle,  poured  out  a  copious  draught,  tossed  it 
down  his  throat,  bowed  meekly,  and  withdrew. 
In  the  vestibule  he  met  the  Hon.  Perfidius 
Ruse,  the  Mayor  of  the  city,  whose  term  of 


TIN-TYPES.  91 

office  was  about  to  expire,  and  as  to  whose  re- 
nomination  there  was  going  on  a  heated  con 
troversy.  Mr.  Ruse  was  a  reformer.  It  was 
as  a  reformer  that  he  had  been  elected  two 
years  before.  At  that  time  Mr.  O'Meagher 
found  himself  menaced  by  a  strange  peril. 
It  had  been  alleged  by  jealous  enemies  that 
he  was  corrupt,  and  they  called  loudly  for 
reform.  At  first,  Mr.  O'Meagher  experienced 
some  difficulty  in  understanding  what  was 
meant  by  corrupt  and  what  by  reform.  His 
mission  in  life,  as  he  understood  it,  was  to 
name  the  individuals  who  should  hold  the  city's 
offices  and  to  control  their  official  acts  in  the 
interest  of  Tammany  Hall,  and  he  had  great 
difficulty  in  comprehending  how  it  could  be  any 
body's  business  that  he  had  grown  rich  per 
forming  his  mission.  But  perceiving  that  a 
large  and  dangerous  class  of  voters  was  clamor 
ing  for  a  reformer,  he  concluded  to  humor  it  if 
he  could  find  a  good  safe  reformer  on  whom  he 
could  rely.  In  this  emergency  he  had  .pro 
duced  the  Hon.  Perfidius  Ruse. 

It  cannot  be  said  that  Mr.  O'Meagher  regarded 
the  Ruse  experiment  as  entirely  satisfactory. 
Mr.  Ruse  had  certainly  reformed  several  things, 
and  with  considerable  adroitness  and  skill,  but 
there  were  many  who  said  that  his  reforms  had 
all  been  made  with  an  eye  single  to  the  glory 


92  TIN-TYPES. 

of  the  Hon.  Perfidius  Ruse,  and  with  a  view 
to  the  establishment  of  a  personal  influence 
hostile  to  the  man  who  made  him.  The  time 
had  now  come  for  the  test  of  strength.  Con 
cerning  his  ultimate  intentions,  the  Hon.  Doyle 
O'Meagher  was  cold,  silent,  and  reserved. 

"How  are  you,  Mr.  Mayor?"  said  the  crest 
fallen  Mr.  Wimples,  as  he  came  upon  the  re 
former  in  the  vestibule.  "Going  up  to  see 
the — er — Boss?" 

"I  was  thinking  of  it,  yes.  How's  he  feel 
ing?" 

"Ugly.  He's  in  a  dev'lish  uncompromising — 
er — humor.  If  you  were  going  to  ask  anything 
of  him  I  advise  you  to — er,  not." 

"Thank  you.  I  only  intend  to  suggest  some 
matters  in  the  interest  of  reform." 

"I  wish  you  well.     But — er — go  slow." 

Mr.  O'Meagher  did  not  rise  to  greet  his  dis 
tinguished  visitor.  He  simply  drew  a  chair 
close  to  his  own,  poured  out  a  glass  of  whisky, 
and  said,  "Hello!" 

"I  thought  I'd  just  drop  in,  Mr.  O'Meagher," 
said  the  Mayor,  "to  say  a  word  or  two  about 
the  situation.  What  are  the  probabilities?" 

"As  regards  which?" 

"H'm,  well,  the  nominations?" 

"Who  can  tell,"  ejaculated  Mr.  O'Meagher. 
"Who  can  tell?  What  is  more  uncertain,  Mr. 


"WHO  CAN  TELL?"  EJACULATED   MR.    O'MEAGHER. 


93 


94  TIN-TYPES. 

Ruse,  than  the  action  of  a  nominating  conven 
tion?" 

'  To  be  sure,"  responded  Mr.  Ruse.  "What, 
indeed?"  Whereupon  each  statesman  looked 
at  the  other  out  of  the  corners  of  his  eyes. 

"There's  only  one  thing  I  care  about,"  con 
tinued  Mr.  Ruse,  "and  that  is  reform.  If  my 
successor  is  a  reformer,  I  shall  be  satisfied." 

"Make  yourself  easy,"  replied  Mr.  O'Mea- 
gher.  He'll  be  a  reformer.  I've  been  pay 
ing  some  attention  during  the  last  two  years 
to  the  education  of  our  people  in  the  mat 
ter  of  reform.  My  success  has  been  flatter 
ing.  I  think  I  can  truthfully  say  now  that 
Tammany  Hall  has  a  reformer  ready  for  every 
salary  paid  by  the  city,  and  that  there's  no 
danger  of  our  stock  of  reformers  giving  out 
as  long  as  the  salaries  last." 

Mr.  Ruse  hesitated  a  moment,  as  if  reflecting 
how  he  should  take  these  observations.  Finally 
he  laughed  in  a  feeble  way  and  said,  "Good,  yes, 
very."  Then  he  added,  "But,  speaking  seriously, 
I  do  feel  that  my  duty  to  the  public  requires 
me  to  exert  all  the  influence  I  have  for  the 
protection  of  reform." 

"I  feel  the  same  way,"  said  Mr.  O'Meagher, 
"exactly  the  same  way.  I'm  just  boiling  over 
with  enthusiasm  for  reform." 

"Then  our  sympathies  and  desires  are  com- 


TIN-TYPES.  95 

mon.  Now,  if  I  could  feel  sure  that  I  ought  to 
run  again  in  the  interest  of  reform — 

"You've  done  so  much  already,"  Mr.  O'Mea- 
gher  hastily  put  in,  "you've  sacrificed  so  heav 
ily  that  I  don't  think  it  would  be  fair  to  ask 
it  of  you." 

"N-no,"  said  the  Mayor,  dubiously,  "I  sup 
pose  it  wouldn't,  now,  would  it?" 

"Of  course  not." 

"And  yet  I  don't  like  to  run  away  from  the 
call,  so  to  speak,  of  duty." 

"Don't  be  worried  about  that." 

"But  I  am  worried,  O'Meagher.  I  can't  help 
it.  By  every  mail  I  am  receiving  hundreds  of 
letters  from  the  best  citizens  of  New-York,  urg 
ing  me  to  let  my  name  be  used.  Deputations 
wait  on  me  constantly  with  the  same  request, 
and,  as  you  know,  they  are  going  to  hold  a 
mass-meeting  to-morrow  night,  and  they  threat 
en  to  nominate  me,  whether  or  no.  What  can 
I  do?  I  tell  them  I  don't  want  to  run,  that  my 
private  business  has  already  suffered  by  neg 
lect,  but  they  answer  imploring  me  not  to  de 
sert  the  cause  of  reform  just  when  it  needs  me 
most.  It  is  very  embarrassing." 

"Very,"  said  Mr.  O'Meagher.  "It's  aston 
ishing  how  thoughtless  people  are.  But  they 
wouldn't  be  so  hard  on  you  if  they  knew  how 
you  were  fixed." 


96  TIN-TYPES. 

"That's  just  it.  The)'  don't  know,  and  I 
don't  want  to  appear  selfish." 

Mr.  O'Meagher  coughed,  not  because  he 
needed  to  cough,  but  for  want  of  something 
better  to  do. 

"The  Tammany  ticket,"  Mr.  Ruse  contin 
ued,"  will  be  hotly  opposed  this  year,  and  I'm 
bound  to  say  that  I  don't  think  it  is  sufficiently 
identified  with  reform.  They  tell  me  you  are 
going  to  nominate  Wimples  for  the  Supreme 
Court.  Wimples  is  a  good  lawyer,  but  he 
has  no  reform  record.  Neither  has  Colonel 
Bellows,  whom  you  talk  of  for  District-Attor 
ney.  McBoodle  for  Sheriff  does  not  appeal  to 
reformers.  Bierbocker  for  Register  might  get 
the  German  vote,  but  how  could  reformers  sup 
port  a  common  butcher?  I  don't  know  whom 
you  think  of  for  my  place,  but  it  seems  to  me 
that  there's  only  one  way  to  save  your  ticket 
from  defeat  and  that  is  to  indorse  the  candi 
date  for  Mayor  presented  by  the  citizens'  mass- 
meeting  to-morrow  night.  That  would  make 
success  certain.  The  public  would  praise 
your  noble  fidelity  to  reform,  and  you'd  sweep 
the  city!  Think  of  it,  Mr.  O'Meagher! 
What  a  glorious,  what  a  golden  opportu 
nity!" 

"My  eyes  are  as  wide  open  as  the  next  man's 
for  golden  opportunities,  Mr.  Ruse,"  replied 


TIN-TYPES.  97 

Mr.  O'Meagher.  "But  the  question  is,  who  will 
be  nominated." 

"Well,  'hem !  of  course  I  can't  definitely  say. 
I'm  trying  to  get  them  to  take  some  new 
man.  But  if  they  should  insist  on  nominating 
me,  I'm  afraid  I'd  have  to — h'm,  what — what 
do  you  think  I'd  have  to  do?" 

"Well,  being  a  pious  man  and  a  reformer,  1 
should  think  you'd  at  least  have  to  pray  over  it." 

The  Hon.  Perfidius  Ruse  gave  a  keen,  quick 
glance  at  the  Hon.  Doyle  O'Meagher,  and 
slightly  frowned. 

"I  should  certainly  consider  it  with  care,"  he 
said  stiffly. 

"So  should  I." 

"Is  that  all  you  will  say?" 

"No,  I'll  say  more,"  and  he  picked  up  the 
sheet  of  paper  on  which  he  had  written  the 
names  of  the  Tammany  candidates.  "  Look 
here,"  he  continued.  "This  is  my  list  of  nomi 
nees.  The  space  for  the  head  of  the  ticket  is 
still  blank.  I  have  not  told  any  one  whom  I 
mean  to  present  for  the  Mayoralty,  but  I  will 
promise  you  now  to  insert  there  the  name  of 
.the  man  nominated  by  your  Citizens'  meeting 
to-morrow  night." 

"Whoever  he  may  be?" 

"Whoever  he  may  be." 

"And  I  may  rely  on  that?" 


"I   SHOULD   CERTAINLY   CONSIDER   IT    WITH   CARE,"    HE   SAID 
STIFFLY. 


98 


TIN-TYPES.  99 

"Did  I  ever  tell  you  anything  you  couldn't 
rely  on?" 

"No." 

"All  right.     Good-by." 

They  shook  hands,  and  Mr.  Ruse  departed 
wearing  an  expansive  smile.  As  he  left  the 
room,  Mr.  O'Meagher  smiled  also  and  picked  up 
his  pen.  "I  may  as  well  fill  in  the  name  now," 
he  said  softly,  "and  save  time,"  and  with  great 
precision  he  proceeded  to  write:  "For  Mayor, 
the  Hon.  Doyle  O'Meagher.  Assessed  in  the 
sum  of — "  but  there  he  stopped.  'We'll  con 
sider  that  later,"  he  said. 

The  personal  history  of  the  Hon.  Doyle 
O'Meagher  strikingly  proves  how  slight  an 
influence  is  exerted  in  this  young  republic 
by  social  prestige  and  vulgar  wealth,  and  how 
inevitably  certain  are  the  rewards  of  virtue, 
industry,  and  ability.  I  am  credibly  told  that 
Mr.  O'Meagher  first  opened  his  eyes  in  a 
little  ten  by  twelve  earth  cabin  in  the  County 
Kerry,  Ireland,  though  I  can  not  profess  to 
have  seen  the  cabin.  Being  from  his  earliest 
youth  of  a  reflective  disposition,  he  became  im 
pressed,  when  but  a  small  lad,  with  the  convic 
tion  that  thirteen  people,  three  pigs,  seven 
chickens,  and  five  ducks  formed  too  numerous  a 
population  for  a  cabin  of  those  dimensions.  In 
the  silent  watches  of  the  night,  with  his  head 


100  TLV-TYPES. 

on  a  duck  and  a  pig  on  his  stomach,  he  had 
frequently  revolved  this  idea  in  his  young 
but  apt  mind,  and  at  last,  though  not  in  any 
spirit  of  petulance,  he  formed  the  resolution 
which  gave  shape  and  purpose  to  his  later  career. 

He  had  communicated  to  his  father  his  pe 
culiar  views  about  the  crowded  condition  of  the 
cabin. 

"Begob,  Doyley,  me  bye,"  the  old  man  had  re 
plied,  "Oi've  bin  thinkin'  o'  that.  Whin  the  ould 
sow  litters,  Doyley,  it's  sore  perplexhed  we'll 
be  fer  shlapin'  room.  Divil  a  wan  o'  me  knows 
how  fer  to  sarcumvint  the  throuble  widout 
we  takes  you,  Doyley,  an'  the  young  pigs,  an' 
shtrings  ye  all  up  o'  nights  ferninst  the  wall." 

Doyle  waited  developments  with  a  heavy 
heart,  and  when  they  came  and  he  found  that  it 
required  all  the  fingers  on  both  his  hands  where 
with  to  calculate  their  number,  he  took  down 
his  hat,  dashed  the  unbidden  tear  from  his 
eyes,  and  made  the  best  of  his  way  to  Queens- 
town. 

The  opportunity  is  not  here  afforded  for  an 
extended  review  of  the  stages  of  progress  by 
which  Mr.  O'Meagher,  having  landed  in  New 
York,  finally  secured  almost  a  sovereign  influ 
ence  in  its  municipal  affairs,  and  yet  they  are 
too  interesting  to  justify  their  entire  omission. 
He  first  won  a  place  in  the  hearts  of  the 


TIN-TYPES.  101 

American  people  by  discovering  to  them  his 
wonderful  fistic  attainments.  From  small  and 
unnoted  rings,  he  steadily  and  grandly  rose  until 
the  newspapers  overflowed  with  the  details  of 
his  battles  with  the  eminent  Mr.  Muldoon,  with 
Four-Fingered  Jake,  with  the  Canarsie  Ban 
tam,  with  Billy  the  Beat,  and  with  other  equally 
distinguished  gentlemen  of  equally  portentous 
titles,  and  at  last  none  was  to  be  found  capable 
of  withstanding  the  onslaught  of  the  aroused 
Mr.  O'Meagher.  When  he  went  forth  in  dress- 
array,  belts  and  buckles  and  chains  and  plates 
of  gold  armored  him  from  head  to  heel,  and 
diamonds  as  large  as  pigeons'  eggs  blazed  re- 
splendently  from  every  available  nook  and 
corner  all  over  his  muscular  expanse. 

Mr.  O'Meagher's  retirement  from  the  ring 
was  rendered  inevitable  by  the  fact  that  no  one 
would  enter  it  with  him,  and  he  found  himself 
compelled  to  employ  his  talents  in  other  fields 
of  labor.  Reduced  to  this  extremity,  he  re 
solved  to  go  into  politics,  and  as  an  earnest  of 
this  intention  he  fitted  up  a  new  and  gorgeous 
saloon.  It  was  a  novelty  in  its  way,  with  its  tiled 
floors,  its  decorated  walls,  its  costly  and  beauti 
ful  paintings,  its  rare  tapestries,  its  statues  in 
bronze  and  marble,  its  heavy,  oaken  bar,  and  its 
pyramid  of  the  finest  cut  glass- — and  when  he 
threw  it  open  to  the  public  he  celebrated  the 


102  TI.V-TYPES. 

occasion  by  formally  accepting  a  Tammany 
nomination  for  Congress. 

In  the  halls  of  the  National  Legislature,  Mr. 
O'Meagher  soon  let  it  be  known  that  he  cared 
not  who  made  the  country's  laws,  so  long  as  a 
fair  proportion  of  his  constituents  were  supplied 
with  places  and  pensions,  and  his  aggressive  and 
successful  championship  of  this  principle  soon 
won  for  him  a  proud  position  in  the  councils 
of  his  party.  He  was  a  friend  of  the  common 
people,  and  the  commoner  the  people  the 
friendlier  he  was,  until,  having  clearly  estab 
lished  his  claims  to  leadership,  in  obedience 
to  the  summons  of  his  organization,  he  gave 
himself  up  to  the  management  of  its  destinies. 

It  was  as  the  Boss  of  Tammany  Hall  that 
Mr.  Doyle  O'Meagher's  genius-attained  its  larg 
est  and  highest  development.  Notwithstand 
ing  the  opposition  of  rival  factions  engaged  in 
bitter  competition  with  Tammany,  Mr.  O'Mea 
gher  contrived  to  let  out  the  offices  at  larger 
commission  rates  than  Tammany  had  ever  re 
ceived  before.  Under  no  previous  Boss  had 
Tammany's  heelers  enjoyed  such  vast  oppor 
tunities  for  "business."  It  was  all  in  vain  that 
envious  and  less-gifted  bosses  sought  to  under 
mine  and  depose  him.  Steadily  and  courage 
ously  he  pursued  his  policy  of  reducing  the  la 
bor  of  self-government  to  individual  citizens  un- 


TIN-TYPES.  ioj 

til  he  had  placed  their  taxes  at  a  maximum  and 
their  trouble  at  a  minimum.  They  had  but  to 
pay,  Mr.  O'Meagher  did  all  the  piping  and 
all  the  dancing  too. 

He  was  in  capital  humor  now  as  he  dropped 
the  pen  with  which  he  had  written  his  own  name 
as  that  of  the  Mayoralty  candidate  for  whom 
he  had  finally  decided  to  throw  his  important 
influence,  and  when  a  boy  entered  with  the 
information  that  Major  Tuff  was  below,  the 
Hon.  Doyle  O'Meagher  was  actually  whistling. 
"Tuff,"  he  said.  "Good,  I'm  wanting  Tuff. 
Send  Tuff  up." 

Tuff  entered.  Tuff's  hat  was  new  and  high 
and  shiny.  Tuff's  hair  was  all  aglow  with  bear's 
grease.  Tuff's  eyes  were  small  and  snappy. 
Tuff's  nose  was  flat  and  wide  and  snubby. 
Tuff's  cheeks  were  big  and  bony.  Tuff's  cigar 
was  long  and  black.  Tuff's  lips  were  thick  and 
extensive.  Tuff's  neck  was  huge  and  short. 
Tuff's  coat  was  a  heavy  blue  one  that  did  for 
an  overcoat,  too.  Tuff  wore  diamonds  as  big 
as  his  knuckles.  Tuff's  scarf  was  red.  Tuff's 
waistcoat  was  yellow,  and  every  color  known 
to  the  spectroscope  was  employed  to  make  up 
Tuff's  copious  trousers. 

"Well,"  said  Tuff,  "I'm  on  deck." 

"Thank  you,  Major.    How  are  things  looking?" 

"Dey  couldn't  be  better.     I  got  t'irty-six  ten- 


104  TIN-TYPES. 

ement  houses  wid  at  leas'  two  hundered  woters 
to  de  house.  Dey's  two  t'ousan'  Eyetalians, 
five  hunered  niggers,  more'n  a  t'ousan'  Poles, 
and  de  res'  is  all  kinds.  An'  every  dern  one 
of  em's  eddicated !" 

"Educated  !  Really,  you  don't  mean  it?" 
"Eddicated!  You  kin  betcher  boots.  De 
performin'  dogs  in  the  circus  aint  a  patch  to 
dem  free  and  intelligent  Amerikin  citerzens. 
I  got  'em  trained  so  dat  at  de  menshun  of  de 
word  'reform'  dey  all  busts  out  in  one  gran' 
roar  er  ent'oosiasm.  I  had  eight  hunered  of 
'em  a-practisin'  in  de  assembly  rooms  over 
Paddy  Coogan's  saloon  las'  night.  I  tole  'em 
de  louder  dey  yelled  when  I  said  de  word 
'reform'  de  more  beer  dey'd  get  w'en  de  lectur 
was  done.  Some  of  'em  was  disposed  ter  stick 
out  for  de  beer  fust,  an'  said  dey  could  do  deir 
bes'  shoutin'  w'en  dey  was  loaded.  But  my 
princerple  is  work  fust,  den  go  ter  de  cashier. 
So  I  made  'em  a  speech. 

"I  sez:  'Feller-citerzens:  Dis  is  de  Ian'  er 
de  free  an'  de  home  er  de  brav,'  an'  den  I  give 
a  motion  wot  means  'stamp  de  feet.'  Dey  all 
stamped  like  dey  was  clog-dancers.  Den  I 
cleared  me  t'roat  an'  perceeded :  'Dis  is  de 
haven  of  de  oppressed,  de  pore  an'  de  unforch- 
ernit  from  all  shores.'  I  give  de  signal  wot 
means  cheers,  an'  dey  yelled  for  two  minits. 


"WELL,"  SAID  TUFF,  "  I'M  ON  DECK.' 


105 


IO<J  TIN-TYPES. 

'Dis  is  our  berloved  Ameriky!'  sez  I, 'where 
no  tyrant's  heel  is  ever  knowed,'  sez  I,  'where 
all  men  is  ekal,'  sez  I,  'an'  where  we,  feller-cit- 
erzens,  un'er  de  gallorious  banner  of  RE 
FORM — '  an'  at  dat  word,  dey  all  jes'  got  up  on 
deir  feet  an'  stamped,  an'  yelled,  an'  waved  deir 
hats  an'  coats  till  you'd  er  t'ought  dey  was  a 
Legislatur'  of  lunatics.  Oh,  I  got  'em  in  good 
shape — doncher  bodder  about  me." 

"Ahem,"  said  Mr.  O'Meagher  thoughtfully, 
as  he  cracked  his  finger-joints  and  puffed  on  his 
cigar.  "You've  done  well,  Tuff,  excellent.  Ah, 
Tuff,  there's  going  to  be  a  meeting  in  the  Cooper 
Union  to-morrow  night.  The  people  that  are 
getting  it  up — er,  well,  I'm  afraid  they're  not 
very  friendly  to  me,  Tuff.  The  doors  open  at 
seven.  Now,  do  you  think  the  proceedings 
would  be  interesting  enough  to  your  friends  for 
them  to  attend  in  such  numbers  as  will  fill  the 
hall,  Tuff?" 

"Say  no  more,  Mr.  O'Meagher,  dey '11  be  dere." 

"In  large  numbers,  Tuff?" 

"Dey '11  jam  de  hall." 

"Early,  Tuff?" 

"By  half-past  six." 

"Good.  I  think  you'll  find  the  policemen  on 
duty  there  very  good  fellows.  You  might  see 
me  to-morrow  morning,  Tuff,  and  I'll  have 
something  for  you." 


VI. 

THE  HON.  DOYLE  O'MEAGHER. 

(CONCLUDED.) 

ALL  bedecked  with  light  and  all  ablaze  with 
color,  the  Cooper  Union  was  fast  filling 
up  with  the  friends  of  Reform.  So  enor 
mous  had  the  crowds  in  Astor  Place  become 
that,  although  the  hour  was  early,  Colonel 
Sneekins  had  wisely  concluded  to  wait  no 
longer,  but  at  once  to  let  them  in.  They 
poured  through  the  wide  doorways  in  abun 
dant  streams,  while  Colonel  Sneekins  led  the 
superb  brass  band  of  the  /th  Regiment,  done 
up  in  startling  uniforms  and  carrying  along  with 
it  a  tremendous  battery  of  horns  and  drums, 
to  its  place  in  the  gallery. 

Colonel  Machiavelli  Sneekins  sustained  an 
important  relation  to  the  Reform  movement, 
and  at  this  Grand  Rally  of  Non-Partisan  Cit 
izens  in  the  Interest  of  Reform,  he  had,  with 
great  propriety,  selected  himself  to  be  Master 
of  Ceremonies.  Colonel  Sneekins  was  a  non- 
partisan  citizen.  He  looked  upon  partisanship 
as  the  curse  of  the  Republic,  and  in  his  more 
enthusiastic  moments  had  declared  that  if  he 
107 


io8  TIN-TYPES. 

could  have  his  way  about  it,  any  man  so  hope 
lessly  dead  to  the  nobler  impulses  of  the  hu 
man  heart  as  to  confess  himself  a  partisan 
should  be  declared  guilty  of  a  felony  and  con 
fined  for  a  proper  period  of  years  at  hard  labor. 
What  the  country  called  for,  according  to 
Colonel  Sneekins,  was  Reform.  The  first  step  in 
bringing  about  the  triumph  of  Reform  was  to 
put  all  the  offices  in  the  hands  of  Reformers. 
If  the  public  wished  to  intoxicate  its  eyes 
with  the  spectacle  of  the  kind  of  men  who 
would  then  administer  the  Government,  it  had 
but  to  look  upon  him.  He  was  a  Reformer. 
As  a  Reformer  he  was  in  possession  of  a  lucra 
tive  municipal  office,  wherein  he  was  mightily 
prospering,  and  which  for  the  honor  and  glory 
of  Reform  he  was  willing  to  retain. 

Colonel  Sneekins  was  the  leading  spirit  of 
this  citizens'  movement.  He  had  prepared  the 
call  of  the  meeting.  He  had  obtained  the 
1 500  signatures  now  appended  to  it,  represent 
ing  estimable  business  men  who,  in  observing 
that  useful  maxim  of  trade,  "We  strive  to 
please,"  esteemed  it  one  of  their  functions  to 
sign  all  the  petitions  that  came  along.  Colonel 
Sneekins  had  hired  the  hall  and  the  band ;  had 
made  up  from  the  City  Directory  a  formidable 
list  of  Vice-Presidents  and  Secretaries  ;  had  se 
cured  the  orators,  and  finally  had  arranged  for 


TIN-TYPES.  109 

the  attendance  of  a  sufficient  audience.  In  per 
fecting  these  details  he  had  had  the  valuable 
assistance  of  other  distinguished  Reformers 
and  non-partisan  citizens.  Editor  Hacker,  of 
The  New  York  Daily  Sting,  had  boomed  the 
movement  with  great  zeal  and  effectiveness. 
General  Divvy,  the  ex-Governor  of  South  Caro 
lina,  who  had  grown  wealthy  reforming  that 
State  and  had  thereafter  naturally  come  to  be 
regarded  as  an  authority  on  all  matters  con 
nected  with  reform,  had  written  an  earnest  let 
ter  commending  the  rally  as  one  of  the  most 
important  steps  that  had '  ever  been  taken  in 
the  direction  of  pure  and  frugal  government. 
The  Rev.  Dr.  Lillipad  Froth,  from  his  pulpit 
in  the  Memorial  Church  of  the  Sacred  Vanities, 
had  taken  occasion  to  say  that  great  results  to 
the  community  might  be  expected  from-  the 
success  of  this  patriotic  enterprise,  arid  ex-Con 
gressman  Van  Shyster,  being  interviewed  by  a 
reporter  of  The  Sting,  after  expressing  his  un 
qualified  opinion  that  all  political  parties  were 
utterly  corrupt  and  abandoned,  whereof  his  op 
portunity  of  judging  had  certainly  been  excel 
lent,  since  he  had  suffered  numerous  defeats  as 
the  candidate  of  each  of  them  successively,  em 
phatically  declared  that  he  saw  no  hope  for  the 
city  except  in  the  cause  this  meeting  was  called 
to  foster. 


lio  TIN-TYPES. 

No  definite  purpose  had  been  expressed  in 
the  published  call  as  to  what  should  be  done  at 
the  Rally,  but  Colonel  Sneekins's  plans  were 
fully  matured.  The  Hon.  Doyle  O'Meagher, 
the  Boss  of  Tammany  Hall,  had  promised 
that  his  organization  should  indorse  for  the 
office  of  Mayor  the  nominee  presented  by  the 
Reformers.  As  to  the  identity  of  their  candi 
date  there  was  but  one  mind  among  the  Refor 
mers.  Who  should  he  be  but  that  champion  of 
Reform,  the  Hon.  Perfidius  Ruse?  Mr.  Ruse 
was  not  an  experiment.  He  had  already  served 
as  the  City's  Chief  Magistrate,  and  had  filled 
many  remunerative  offices  with  Reformers. 
Being  of  a  modest  and  retiring  disposition,  he 
was  now  holding  aloof  from  the  honors  sought 
to  be  thrust  upon  him.  He  had  begged  his 
friends  to  take  some  new  candidate,  he  had 
pleaded  his  well-known  dislike  of  office  and  the 
pressing  demands  of  his  private  affairs.  But, 
nevertheless,  zealous  as  he  was  in  the  Reform 
cause,  he  had  consented  to  furnish  a  delegation 
of  500  citizens  from  his  morocco  factories  in 
Hoboken  to  swell  the  Grand  Rally  in  the 
Cooper  Union,  and  had  given  his  friend, 
Colonel  Sneekins,  an  ample  check  wherewith  to 
procure  portraits  and  pamphlets  presenting  to 
the  public  the  features  and  the  services  of  the 
Hon.  Perfidius  Ruse.  It  was  Colonel  Sneekins's 


TIN-TYPES.  in 

intention  totally  to  disregard  Mr.  Ruse's  plea  for 
rest  from  official  cares,  and  as  he  now  from  be 
hind  the  wings  contemplated  the  great  crowd 
that  was  surging  into  the  Cooper  Union,  he 
rubbed  his  hands  and  gleamed  his  teeth  with 
such  intensity  of  emotion  that  the  Rev.  Dr.  Lil- 
lipad  Froth,  who  was  standing  near  by,  felt  his 
flesh  a-creeping. 

It  was  certainly  an  extraordinary  crowd.  It 
had  assembled  almost  in  an  instant.  Scarcely 
had  the  policemen  taken  their  places  at  the 
doors  of  the  Cooper  Union  when  a  bulky,  varie 
gated  young  man  stepped  up  to  one  of  them. 

"Hello!"  he  said. 

"Hello,  Meejor,"  responded  the  officer. 

"When'll  yer  open  de  door?" 

"Air  ye  wantin'  t'  git  in,  .Meejor?" 

"Doncher  know  I  got  a  gang  to-night?" 

"So  ye  have,  Meejor,  so  ye  have.  Oi  was 
hearin'  about  it,  av  coorse.  It's  the  Tim  Tuff 
Assowseashun,  aint  it?" 

"Now,  looker  yere !"  said  Tuff  sharply, 
"Aincher  got  no  orders  'bout  dis  meetin'?" 

"Oi  have  that,  Meejor.  Oi  was  towld  that 
you  an'  some  friends  av  yourn  moight  be 
a-wantin'  seats,  an'  Oi  was  ter  see  that  ye  got 
'em." 

"Dat's  all  right,  den.  Me  an'  my  frien's  'II 
be  along  in  about  ten  minutes,  an'  dey'll  be 


HE   RUBBED   HIS   HANDS   AND   GLEAMED   HIS  TEETH. 


112 


TIN-TYPES.  H3 

enough  of  us  ter  fill  de  hall,  an*  dere's  one  t'ing 
yer  wants  ter  keep  in  yer  head,  and  dat's  dis — 
ef  me  an'  my  frien's  don't  get  a  chance  ter  jam 
dis  house  before  anybody  else  is  'lowed  inside 
de  door,  de  Hon'able  Doyle  O'Meagher  '11  be 
wantin*  ter  know  de  reason  why !" 

Having  thus  delivered  himself  Tuff  sauntered 
down  the  Bowery,  and  presently  from  all  points 
of  the  compass  a  tremendous  rabble  began  to 
pour  into  Astor  Place  and  to  mass  itself  in 
front  of  the  Cooper  Union.  Tuff  himself  re 
appeared  in  a  few  moments,  and  when  Colonel 
Sneekins  gave  the  signal  for  the  doors  to  be 
opened  Tuff  and  his  friends  took  easy  and  com 
plete  possession  of  the  house. 

Meanwhile  the  Hon.  Perfidius  Ruse  stood  in 
a  little  room  at  the  rear  of  the  stage  receiving 
the  invited  guests  of  the  occasion.  Mr.  Pickles, 
the  well-known  Broome  Street  grocer,  assumed  a 
look  of  intense  morality  and  importance,  as  the 
Mayor  asked  him  how  he  did  and  expressed  his 
gratification  at  seeing  the  honored  name  of 
Pickles — a  power  in  the  commercial  world — en 
rolled  among  the  friends  of  reform.  The  ap 
pearance  of  General  Divvy  put  the  Mayor  in 
quite  a  flutter,  and  when  the  General  told  him 
that  he  positively  must  consent  to  run  again, 
and  that  he  was  the  only  hope  of  the  Reform 
ers,  the  Mayor  was  much  affected. 


114  TIN-TYPES. 

"I  fear  I  am,"  he  replied,  with  a  mournful 
shake  of  the  head,  as  much  as  to  say  what  a 
commentary  that  was  on  the  absence  of  virtue 
in  public  life. 

Editor  Hacker  was  equally  earnest  in  his  ap 
peals.  He  said  the  Mayor  must  come  right  out, 
and  referred  to  a  conversation  he  had  had  with 
the  President  only  last  week,  in  which  the  Presi 
dent  had  confidentially  said  he  was  as  much 
in  favor  of  Reform  as  ever.  Dr.  Punk,  who 
stands  at  the  very  head  of  the  medical  profes 
sion,  informed  the  Rev.  Lillipad  Froth  that  it 
was  his  deliberate  opinion,  should  Mr.  Ruse 
desert  them  in  this  crisis,  all  would  be  over. 
Something  like  dismay  was  created  by  the 
ominous  remark  of  ex-Congressman  Van  Shyster 
that  others  might  do  as  they  pleased,  but  as 
for  him,  his  mind  was  made  up.  At  this  criti 
cal  juncture  the  Hon.  Erastus  Spiggott,  the 
orator  of  the  evening,  opportunely  arrived, 
and  upon  being  told  that  Mr.  Ruse  was  still 
hesitating,  he  boldly  declared  that  the  only 
thing  to  do  was  to  take  the  bull  by  the  horns. 
Fired  by  the  cheers  elicited  by  this  observa 
tion,  he  proceeded  to  say  that  the  occasion 
which  had  brought  together  the  large  and 
representative"  body  of  citizens  assembled  in 
the  hall  beyond,  and  waiting  only  for  the 
opportunity  to  indorse  the  wise  and  safe 


TIN-TYPES.  115 

and  honorable  administration  of  Mayor  Ruse 
(loud  cheers)  and  to  place  him  again  in  nomi 
nation,  would  live  in  history.  (Cries  of  "good  ! 
good !")  That  vast  and  intelligent  audience  was 
not  there  to  record  the  edict  of  corrupt  and 
selfish  bosses,  but  as  thoughtful,  independent, 
and  patrotic  citizens,  free  from  the  shackles  of 
partisanship  (loud  applause),  they  had  come  to 
gether  to  promote  the  honor  and  the  prosperity 
of  this  imperial  metropolis. 

Mr.  Spiggott  was  entirely  satisfied  that 
among  them  there  was  no  division  of  sentiment 
as  to  the  course  that  should  be  pursued  to  se 
cure  this  noble  end.  They  knew  as  well  as  he, 
as  well  as  any  of  the  gentlemen  about  him  now, 
that  the  Reform  cause  stood  in  peril  of  but  one 
misfortune — the  retirement  of  the  great,  unsel 
fish,  popular,  and  devoted  man  who  had  already 
led  the  Reformers  to  victory.  (Rapturous  ap 
plause.)  He  did  not  fail  to  appreciate  the 
modesty  that  led  Mr.  Ruse  to  undervalue  his 
magnificent  services  to  the  city.  He  could 
well  understand  his  (Mr.  Ruse's)  desire  to  return 
to  his  counting-room  and  his  fireside  free  of  the 
burdens  and  anxieties  incident  to  a  great  trust. 
But — and  here  Mr.  Spiggott's  bosom  swelled 
and  his  eyes  flashed  with  a  noble  fire — he  was 
not  here  to-night  to  consider  Mr.  Ruse's  feel 
ings  and  wishes ;  he  was  here,  as  they  all  were,  in 


Il6  TIN-TYPES. 

the  discharge  of  a  public  duty.  (Cheers.)  That 
duty  required  of  Mr.  Ruse  an  act  of  self-sacri 
fice.  He  must  accept  the  nomination.  He 
could  not,  he  would  not  dare  desert  the  Banner 
of  Reform.  (Cheers.) 

Mr.  Spiggott  paused,  wiped  his  brow  and  his 
eyeglasses,  and  continued.  He  might  say  in 
this  small  and  select  company  of  Reformers 
what  it  might  be  imprudent  to  assert  later  in 
the  evening,  when  he  came  to  address  the  great 
assembly  in  the  outer  hall,  that  the  outcome  of 
this  meeting  was  being  keenly  watched  by  the 
spoilsmen.  They  were  a  cunning  and  sagacious 
lot.  The  one  thing  they  most  dreaded  was  the 
very  thing  this  meeting  was  going  to  do.  He 
had  the  best  reasons  for  knowing  that  Boss 
O'Meagher  mightily  desired  to  nominate  a  can 
didate  of  his  own  at  the  Tammany  Hall  conven 
tion.  Who  had  been  selected  by  this  unprin 
cipled  partisan,  this  arrogant  and  odious  dictator 
(loud  and  long  applause),  he  did  not  know.  But 
he  was  certain  to  be  a  partisan,  a  spoilsman,  a 
tool  of  Tammany  Hall  and  its  corrupt  boss.  Mr. 
Ruse's  nomination  to-night  would  deal  a  deadly 
blow  to  that  plot.  Tammany  Hall  would  not 
dare  risk  the  defeat  of  its  entire  ticket  by  nomi 
nating  a  candidate  against  the  Hon.  Perfidius 
Ruse.  (Immense  enthusiasm.)  Indeed,  Mr. 
Spiggott  had  reason  to  believe  that  Boss 


"OF  THIS  IMPERIAL  METROPOLIS." 


117 


Ii8  TIN-TYPES. 

O'Meagher,  cunning  trickster  that  he  was,  would 
seek  to  avail  himself  of  Mr  Ruse's  popularity 
and  would  indorse  the  nominee  of  this  meeting. 
Under  these  circumstances  it  was  folly  to  think 
of  permitting  Mr.  Ruse  to  retire.  (Cheers.)  It 
could  not  be  done. 

Mr.  Ruse  was  deeply  affected  by  these  re 
marks,  and  at  their  conclusion  he  touched  his 
handkerchief  to  his  eyes  and  said  he  did  not 
think  it  would  be  right  for  him  to  resist  any 
longer.  Thereupon  Colonel  Sneekins,  in  a  tone 
of  voice  that  highly  distressed  the  nerves  of  the 
Rev.  Lillipad  Froth,  cried  out  "Hurrah!"  and 
forthwith  led  the  way  from  the  little  dressing- 
room  in  which  they  were  assembled  out  upon 
the  stage. 

The  Reformers  had  been  so  busy  bolstering 
up  the  shrinking  nature  of  Mr.  Ruse  that  they 
had  given  small  heed  to  the  enormous  con 
course  of  citizens  in  the  hall.  Indeed,  Colonel 
Sneekins,  having  ascertained  that  it  would  be 
sufficient  in  point  of  numbers  for  the  purposes 
of  a  "grand  rally,"  had  not  bestowed  a  further 
thought  upon  it,  so  that  when  he  and  his  vice- 
presidents  and  his  distinguished  guests  finally 
got  upon  the  stage  and  began  to  look  about 
them,  the  spectacle  that  met  their  eyes  was  as 
unexpected  as  it  was  bewildering.  From  the 
reporters'  tables  to  the  remotest  recesses  of  the 


TIN-TYPES..  119 

gallery  the  hall  was  packed  tight  with  a  motley 
mob,  in  which  the  element  of  born  cut-throats 
largely  predominated.  It  was  the  kind  of 
crowd  that  could  only  have  been  gathered  from 
the  three-cent  lodging-houses  in  Chatham  Street. 
A  dense  volume  of  tobacco  smoke,  produced 
from  pipes  and  demoralized  cigar-stumps, 
choked  the  room.  The  evening  being  rather 
warm,  all  surplus  clothing  had  been  disposed  of, 
and  so  far  as  could  be  observed  through  the 
hazy  atmosphere,  the  audience  was  attired  only 
in  shirts.  In  one  sense  it  was  a  highly  repre 
sentative  audience.  It  represented  every  na 
tion  and  every  clime  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 
Had  it  been  selected  for  the  purpose  of  show 
ing  the  cosmopolitan  character  of  the  popula 
tion  in  the  tenement-house  district  surround 
ing  Chatham  Square,  it  could  not  have  been 
more  picturesque.  Bristle-bearded  Russians 
and  Poles,  heavy-bearded  Italians,  dark-visaged 
Hungarians,  and  every  other  manner  of  un 
washed  man  had  been  drawn  into  this  Grand 
Rally  of  Non-Partisan  Citizens  in  the  Interest 
of  Reform. 

Colonel  Sneekins  looked  aghast  at  General 
Divvy,  and  whispered  hoarsely,  "There's  been 
a  mistake !"  Drawing  Mr.  Spiggott,  Editor 
Hacker,  and  ex-Congressman  Van  Shyster  about 
them,  a  hurried  consultation  took  place.  It 


120  TIN-TYPES. 

was  quickly  decided  that  retreat  was  now  impos 
sible  and  that  the  meeting  must  go  on.  They 
were  assisted  in  coming  to  this  conclusion  by 
the  chorus  of  lively  and  altogether  friendly 
apostrophes  that  came  from  the  audience  in 
cries  of  "Wot's  de  matter  wid  Reform?  Oh,  it's 
all  right !" 

"Let's  go  right  ahead,"  said  Editor  Hacker. 
"This  is  a  democracy,  and  it  is  not  for  us  to 
assume  that  even  the  humblest  citizen  lacks 
lofty  aspirations." 

Colonel  Sneekins  thereupon  advanced  to  the 
footlights,  and  was  greatly  reassured  by  the 
hearty  applause  which  his  appearance  evoked. 

"Gentlemen !"  he  said,  and  immediately  a 
storm  of  cheers  arose,  delaying  for  several  min 
utes  his  further  utterance.  "It  affords  me 
pleasure  to  propose  as  your  chairman  to-night 
the  Hon.  Cockles  V.  Divvy." 

General  Divvy  came  forward,  and  as  he 
bowed  and  smiled  in  answer  to  the  wild  wel 
come  he  received,  the  band  played  a  few  bars 
from  "Captain  Jinks."  When  quiet  had  been 
restored,  the  General  said  that  this  was  the 
proudest  moment  of  his  life.  He  should  not 
venture,  however,  to  make  a  speech.  The  oc 
casion  was  one  that  called  for  a  power  of  elo 
quence  he  could  never  hope  to  attain.  (Cheers.) 
He  would,  however,  advert  for  one  brief  mo- 


THE  HON.  COCKLES   V.  DIVVY. 


122  TIN-TYPES. 

ment  (more  cheers)  to  the  significance  of 
this  great  assembly.  He  was  rejoiced  to  see  so 
representative  a  gathering  of  intelligent  citi 
zens,  drawn  from  every  walk  of  life,  brought 
here  to  consider  how  best  to  fix  and  establish 
upon  the  government  of  the  city  the  great  prin 
ciple  of  Reform ! 

The  roar  of  applause  that  greeted  this  declara 
tion  was  simply  deafening.  For  full  five  min 
utes  the  audience  cheered  and  shouted,  while 
Sneekins  opened  his  lips  and  gleamed  his  teeth 
with  such  vigor  as  to  compel  the  Rev.  Dr.  Lilli- 
pad  Froth  to  take  a  more  distant  chair. 

General  Divvy  called  upon  Editor  Hacker 
to  read  the  resolutions,  which  Mr.  Hacker, 
having  procured  them  from  Mr.  Ruse  a  mo 
ment  before,  at  once  proceeded  to  do.  The 
first  resolution,  being  a  declaration  in  favor  of 
Reform,  was  instantly  carried.  The  second, 
which  indorsed  Major  Ruse's  administration, 
was  likewise  put  through  with  entire  unanimity. 
The  third  declared  that  this  meeting  of  non- 
partisan  citizens,  anxious  to  continue  to  the 
city  the  unexampled  prosperity  it  had  enjoyed 
for  the  past  two  years,  hereby  placed  in  nomi 
nation  for  a  second  term  the  Hon.  Perfidius 
Ruse ;  whereupon,  to  the  horror  and  dismay  of 
the  Reformers,  from  all  parts  of  the  hall  came  a 
deafening  roar  of  protesting  "noes!" 


EDITOR   HACKER   READS   THE   RESOLUTIONS. 


123 


1^4  TIN-TYPES. 

In  an  instant  confusion  and  uproar  possessed 
the  house.  General  Divvy  pounded  the  desk 
before  him  frantically  and  screamed  for  order 
until  he  was  black  in  the  face.  Above  all  the 
din  arose  the  shrill  shout,  of  Colonel  Sneekins, 
as  he  called  upon  the  police  to  clear  the  room. 
In  the  body  of  the  house  men  were  shaking 
their  fists  and  waving  their  hats  and  coats,  and 
calling,  "O'Meagher!  O'Meagher!  'Rah  fer 
O'Meagher!"  So  unbounded  was  their  enthusi 
asm  for  O'Meagher,  so  unanimous  and  deter 
mined  were  they  to  listen  to  nothing  but 
O'Meagher,  and  so  fierce  and  bloodthirsty  did 
their  devotion  to  O'Meagher  appear  to  make 
them,  that  General  Divvy,  warned  by  the  sudden 
contact  of  a  projected  cabbage  with  his  mallet, 
ceased  at  once  to  hammer  and  picked  up  his 
hat  and  coat.  The  Reformers  about  him  ac 
cepted  this  as  the  signal  of  retreat,  and  they 
fled  precipitately  through  the  door  at  the  rear 
of  the  stage.  Of  them  all  only  four  tarried  in 
the  wings,  Ruse,  Sneekins,  Divvy,  and  Hacker; 
and  as  they  grasped  each  other's  hands  in  sor 
row  and  sympathy,  they  saw  the  stalwart  figure 
of  Major  Tuff  mount  the  stage.  Immediately 
the  hall  was  quiet. 

"Gents!"  said  Tuff.  "Fer  reasons  dat  I  don't 
see  an'  derefore  can't  explain,  our  leaders  'pear 
ter  hev  deserted  us  and  ter  hev  left  dis  gran' 


TIN-TYPES.  12$ 

rally  of  non-partisan  citizens  in  de  int'rust  of 
Reform  (cheers)  in  de  lurch.  Dis  is  werry 
unforchernit,  but  we,  as  Reformers,  must  hump 
ourselves  ter  meet  de  crisis.  I  nomernate  fer 
Mayor  of  New  York  de  Hon.  Doyle  O'Meagher ! 
Long  may  he  wave!" 

A  cyclone  of  cheers  swept  the  hall,  and  as 
it  echoed  and  re-echoed  around  them,  the 
four  stranded  Reformers  betook  themselves 
away.  "O'Meagher  said  he  would  accept  the 
nominee  of  this  meeting  as  the  candidate  of 
Tammany  Hall,"  said  Mr.  Ruse  sadly,  "and  I 
guess  he'll  keep  his  word." 


VII. 
MR.  GALLIVANT. 

O RIGHT  and  gay  was  the  smile  of  Mr.  Juni- 
JL)  per  Gallivant.  Merry  and  artless  was  the 
flash  of  his  bright  blue  eyes.  Brisk  and  chip 
per  was  the  step  at  which  his  dainty  feet  bore 
him  along  Broadway.  Warm  and  impulsive 
was  the  grasp  of  his  hand. 

Mr.  Gallivant  was  a  young  man,  surely  not 
over  forty.  He  was  a  little  fellow  with  just 
the  slightest  perceptible  tendency  toward  stout 
ness.  He  could  say  more  words  in  a  minute 
than  any  other  man  in  New  York,  and  he,  at 
least,  always  believed  what  he  said. 

Most  men,  I  suppose,  believe  in  themselves, 
and  largely  for  the  reason  that  most  men  are 
but  superficially  acquainted  with  themselves. 
But  Mr.  Gallivant  had  been  on  terms  of  long 
and  ardent  intimacy  with  himself,  and  the 
implicit  trust  he  placed  in  his  own  words  was 
therefore  as  surprising  as  it  was  beautiful. 

Mr.  Gallivant  was  born  a  gentleman  and 
educated  a  lawyer.  He  had  an  office  in  the 
Equitable  Building,  and,  during  his  periods  of 
126 


TIN-TYPES.  127 

ill-luck,  a  large  and  paying  clientage.  For  it 
was  only  when  luck  was  against  him  that  he 
consented  to  practice  at  his  profession.  When 
it  was  known  that  he  was  in  distressed  circum 
stances,  clients  flocked  to  him  in  large  num 
bers.  Other  less  eloquent  attorneys  retained 
him  to  try  their  cases  for  them.  He  had  busi 
ness  in  plenty. 

But  when  fortune  favored  him,  Mr.  Gallivant 
didn't  bother  with  musty  old  law  books.  Not 
much.  He  spent  all  his  time  spending  his 
money.  He  had  the  most  novel  and  ingenious 
ideas  on  the  subject  of  loafing.  He  loafed 
scientifically,  and  with  great  enthusiasm.  He 
put  his  soul  into  it,  and  when  Mr.  Gallivant's 
soul  got  into  anything  it  straightway  began 
to  hum.  Mr.  Gallivant's  soul  was  in  many  re 
spects  similar  to  a  Corliss  engine. 

Just  now,  Mr.  Gallivant  was  in  very  poor 
circumstances — a  condition  of  things  all  the 
more  hardly  felt  because  it  succeeded,  and  suc 
ceeded  suddenly,  upon  a  period  of  bewildering 
prosperity.  Early  in  the  year  1888  it  was  ob 
served  that  Mr.  Gallivant's  dark  red  mustaches 
were  curling  away  at  the  ends  with  a  lightness 
and  vivacity  that  they  only  displayed  when 
things  were  going  well.  The  quality  of  the 
curl  in  the  ends  of  his  mustaches  invariably 
indicated  to  his  friends  the  state  of  the  market. 


128  TIN-TYPES. 

They  could  tell  exactly  whether  stocks  were 
up  or  down  and  how  much  so.  The  sensitive 
rhododendron  is  not  more  surely  responsive  to 
the  temperature  of  its  environment  than  was 
the  curl  in  Mr.  Gallivant's  mustaches  to  the 
tale  of  the  ticker. 

In  no  other  way,  mark  you,  did  he  reveal  his 
interest  in  the  Street  and  its  doings.  By  not  a 
single  quaver  was  the  cheeriness  of  his  snatchy, 
racy,  merry  voice  affected.  By  not  the  frac 
tion  of  an  inch  nor  a  second  was  his  gay  little 
trot  altered.  But  when  the  ends  of  his  mus 
tache  stood  out  straight,  his  friends,  no  matter 
how  slight  was  their  acquaintance  with  finan 
cial  matters,  knew  they  were  safe  in  conclud 
ing  that  the  country  was  going  to  the  dogs, 
while,  on  the  other  hand,  when  those  same  mus 
taches  finished  off  in  a  sprightly  little  twist,  the 
fact  that  we  were  living  under  a  wise  and  benef 
icent  dispensation  was  too  clear  for  argument. 

Early  in  1888,  as  I  said  before,  Mr.  Galli 
vant's  mustaches  began  to  curl.  They  became 
elastic.  They  twisted  themselves  this  way  and 
that  in  graceful  good-humor.  They  twined 
themselves  lovingly  about  his  nose  and  danced 
in  constant  ecstasy.  Mr.  Gallivant's  office 
in  the  Equitable  Building  saw  less  and  less  of 
him.  He  left  his  lodgings  in  Harlem  and  took 
a  suite  of  large  and  beautiful  apartments  in  a 


TIN-TYPES.  129 

fashionable  hotel.  Every  afternoon  he  drove 
a  pair  of  superb  black  horses  over  the  Boule 
vard  and  through  the  Park.  All  his  friends 
were  happy.  They  asked  and  it  was  given 
them.  He  lavished  diamond  buttons  and  scarf- 
pins  among  them  as  if  he  were  a  prince  and 
they  were  pugilists.  He  got  up  a  party  and 
made  a  palace-car  excursion  to  the  Yellow 
stone  Park.  He  purchased  a  stock-farm  in  Cal 
ifornia.  He  hired  a  steam  yacht  and  cruised  in 
the  Baltic.  From  the  middle  of  March  until 
the  end  of  September  he  used  the  world  as  if 
it  were  his. 

But  then,  a  change  came  o'er  the  spirit  of 
his  red  mustaches.  They  ceased  to  sport 
about  his  nose.  They  were  distinctly  less 
playful  than  they  had  been,  and  by  degrees 
they  became  positively  stiff.  In  the  mean  time, 
Mr.  Gallivant  had  returned  to  his  law  office. 
He  had  also  gone  back  to  live  in  Harlem, 
and  one  night  last  December  he  shut  him 
self  in  his  room — a  hall  bed-chamber  on  the 
third  floor,  rear — sat  himself  upon  the  only  chair 
at  hand,  stretched  his  legs  in  front  of  him, 
thrust  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  murmured : 

"I  feel  curiously  like  writing  an  essay  on 
the  'Vanity  of  Human  Wishes' ! 

"Let  me  see,  let  me  see,"  he  continued  in  a 
ruminating  tone,  "what's  to  be  done?" 


'LET  ME   SEE— WHAT'S  TO   BE   DONE?' 


130 


TIN-TYPES.  131 

He  ran  his  hands  through  his  pockets  and 
produced  a  handful  of  change.  Inspired  by 
this  success  he  rose  and  went  to  the  closet  and 
continued  his  search  through  a  choice  collec 
tion  of  coats,  waistcoats,  and  trowsers  that  hung 
upon  its  hooks.  "Nine  dollars  and  seventy-six 
cents !"  he  said,  when  he  had  counted  the  pro 
ceeds  of  his  investigation.  "Well,  I've  had  a 
great  variety  of  ups  and  downs  in  my  short  but 
checkered  career,  but  I  never  thought  the  sum 
total  of  my  cash  assets  would  be  expressed  in 
nine  dollars  and  seventy-six  cents !  After  all, 
life  is  but  an  insubstantial  pageant,  so  I  think 
I'll  take  a  pony  of  brandy  and  go  to  bed." 

The  next  day  Mr.  Gallivant  was  at  his  office 
bright  and  early.  His  face  shone  with  its  per 
ennial  radiance,  but  his  mustache  told  a  cheer 
less  tale.  Mr.  Gallivant  had  a  number  of  prin 
ciples.  That  which  led  all  the  rest  was  his 
steadfast  refusal  to  borrow  money.  He  sat 
down  to  the  contemplation  of  ways  and  means, 
therefore,  without  the  usual  recourse  taken  by 
impecunious  gentlemen  with  a  large  circle  of 
wealthy  acquaintances  to  relieve  temporary 
embarrassments.  He  drew  his  check-book 
from  his  desk  and  made  a  careful  calculation. 
"There's  the  judgment  and  costs  in  the 
Gauber  case,"  he  said,  "the  interest  of  Rob- 
bins's  mortgage,  the  $3000  paid  to  settle 


I32  TIN-TYPES. 

Riker  vs.  Buckmaster,  and  the  money  Hunt 
paid  my  client  Frabsley.  Deduct  these  from 
my  balance  in  bank,  and  I  have  left  of  my  own 
money  the  munificent  sum  of  $2.17.  There's 
no  way  out  of  it — I  must  draw  on  Thwicket !" 

It  must  be  owned  that  in  the  privacy  of  his 
office  this  conclusion  brought  something  very 
like  a  frown  upon  Mr.  Gallivant's  brow.  "It'll 
ruin  me!"  he  said.  "It'll  show  Thwicket  that 
I'm  as  dry  as  Mother  Hubbard's  pantry,  and 
when  a  man  loses  credit  with  his  broker  he 
might  as  well  shut  up  shop.  But,  gad  !  there's 
no  other  way.  I  must  have  that  balance,  positive 
ly  must,  can't  wait  an  hour  longer.  I've  got 
$380  with  Thwicket— $380,  all  that  remains  of— 
well  never  mind,  there's  no  use  grumbling  over 
what's  gone.  I  had  a  royal  good  time  while  it 
lasted,  so  I'll  just  think  of  the  good  time  and 
not  of  what  it  took  to  get  it.  But  that  $380! 
H'm,  I'll  step  down  and  see  Thwicket!" 

Mr.  Gallivant  slid  into  his  overcoat,  prinked 
up  his  scarlet  tie,  and  walked  breezily  into  Wall 
Street.  He  chanced  to  meet  Thwicket  on  the 
street,  and  they  greeted  each  other  effusively. 

"Where  under  the  sun  have  you  been  for  the 
last  month  or  so?"  exclaimed  the  broker.  "I 
haven't  seen  a  thing  of  you." 

"Oh,  I've  been  around,"  answered  Mr.  Galli 
vant,  with  a  general  wave  of  the  hand, 


TIN-TYPES.  133 

Mr.  Thwicket's  face  assumed  a  reproachful 
look. 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Gallivant,  responsively,  "I 
haven't  been  doing  business  with  anybody 
else.  Fact  is,  old  fellow,  I  think  I've  got  a  bit 
flustered.  I  don't  seem  able  to  get  the  hang 
of  the  market.  Gad,  I've  lost  a  whole  fortune 
since  September — must  have  lost  every  dollar 
of  a  hundred  thousand.  Now  I  can't  go  on 
like  that  forever,  you  know.  I  give  you  my 
word  of  honor  I  couldn't  stand  another  such 
loss.  It  would  put  me  in  a  hole." 

"Nonsense!"  said  Thwicket ;  "come,  walk 
down  to  the  office  and  we'll  talk  it  over.  By 
the  way,  where  are  you  living  now?  I  dropped 
in  at  your  hotel  and  they  said  you'd  given  up 
your  rooms  and  gone  into  the  country.  Queer 
time  o'  year  to  go  to  the  country?" 

"Um — well,  dunno  'bout  that.  Found  my 
rooms  stuffy.  Like  country,  sleighing,  skat 
ing,  ice  yachting,  don't  you  know.  Fine  air, 
healthy.  Think  I'll  buy  a  place  up  the  Hud 
son.  Fact  is,  negotiating  now." 

"Really?     How's  your  stock  farm?" 

"Oh,  sold  it  long  'go.  Got  tired  of  it. 
Can't  play  with  one  toy  forever,  you  know. 
How's  the  market?" 

"It  looks  to  me  a  little  queer  to-day,"  re 
plied  the  broker. 


134  TIN-TYPES. 

"That's  it !  That's  what  I  say.  That's  the 
reason  I  haven't  been  in  lately.  Found  I  was 
getting  rattled.  More  I  figured,  further  away 
I  got  from  real  conditions." 

"It's  time  to  try  again." 

"H'm;  not  so  sure." 

"Luck  must  change." 

"Think  so?" 

"Oh,  I'm  certain." 

"How's  Hollyoke  Central  selling?" 

"It  closed  yesterday  at  86|." 

"Good  time  to  buy." 

"I  doubt  that,  Mr.  Gallivant.  It  seems  to  be 
slowly  going  the  wrong  way  for  buying.  But 
you  might  sell  to  advantage." 

"There,  now,  that  shows  you.  I  tell  you 
I'm  rattled.  You  see,  the  very  first  thing  I 
suggest  you  discourage.  Think  I'd  better 
hold  off." 

They  had  now  reached  the  broker's  office,  in 
which  Mr.  Gallivant  was  presently  ensconced 
at  ease. 

"You  are  right,"  said  Thwicket,  handing  out 
a  case  of  cigars,  "in  saying  that  the  market  is 
queer.  Something  very  curious  has  got  hold  of 
it.  As  you  know,  I  avoid  giving  advice  to  my 
customers,  and  I'm  not  going  to  advise  you; 
but  if  you  will  notice  the  state  of  affairs  with 
regard  to  Snapshot  Consolidated,  you  will  see 


TIN-TYPES.  135 

something  that  ought  to  make  you  open  your 
eyes." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Didn't  you  read  the  market  reports  in  this 
morning's  papers?" 

"Haven't  looked  at  a  market  report  for  three 
weeks." 

"I  guess  that  explains  why  you  don't  under 
stand  the  situation,  then.  Well,  Snapshot 
Consolidated  opened  at  42.  At  about  noon  it 
began  to  mount,  and  it  rose  peg  by  peg  till  it 
closed  at  57^.  Now,  what  do  you  think  of 
that?" 

"I  think  it's  a  warning  for  discreet  men  like 
me  to  keep  away  from  Snapshot.  I  have  no 
overweening  desire  to  monkey  with  Mr.  Gould, 
Thwicket."  Mr.  Gallivant  jingled  the  remnant 
of  six  or  seven  dollars  in  his  pocket  and  softly 
added,  "He  has  more  money  than  I." 

"You're  your  own  best  judge,  of  course.  But 
if  that  stock  opens  this  morning  above  the 
point  at  which  it  closed  last  night,  there's 
going  to  be  more  fun  to-day  in  Wall  Street 
than  we've  had  for  many  a  year.  It  looks  to 
me  like  a  rock-ribbed  corner." 

Mr.  Juniper  Gallivant  bowed  his  head  as  if 
in  deep  reflection.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  was 
fermenting  with  excitement.  He  looked  at 
his  watch.  It  was  within  fifteen  minutes  of 


13  TIN-TYPES. 

the  time  for  the  Exchange  to  open.  "A  cor 
ner!"  he  softly  exclaimed  to  himself.  "A  cor 
ner,  ye  gods !  and  my  balance  in  the  Chemical 
Bank  is  $2. 17.  A  corner,  and  I  not  in  it!" 

Mr.  Gallivant's  fingers  began  to  itch  vicious 
ly,  and  the  perspiration  broke  out  copiously 
under  his  thick  red  hair.  By  a  great  struggle 
he  managed  to  suppress  all  outward  signs  of 
his  emotion,  while  he  continued  to  commune 
with  his  own  mind.  "It's  no  use,"  he  thought. 
"I  must  give  up  all  idea  of  laying  in  with  a 
corner  when  I  haven't  got  money  enough  to  set 
up  a  decent  champagne  supper.  No,  I  must 
draw  that  $380,  and  the  question  is,  how  to  do 
it  and  keep  my  credit  good.  Ha!  an  idea 
strikes  me!"  He  turned  quietly  to  the  broker 
and  said  aloud  :  "Give  me  a  pen,  Thwicket !" 

He  took  a  blank  check  from  his  pocket- 
book — a  check  on  the  Chemical  Bank,  wherein 
$2.17  reposed  peacefully  to  his  credit. 

"I  don't  think  you  have  very  much  money 
of  mine  here,  Thwicket?"  he  continued,  as  he 
slowly  wrote  the  date-line  in  the  check. 

"Don't  think  we  have.  Robert,  what  is  Mr. 
Gallivant's  balance?" 

The  clerk  turned  over  his  ledger  and  pres 
ently  replied:  "Mr.  Gallivant  has  a  credit  of 

22  " 

t&^rt 

'I   don't   think  we'll  bother  with   Snapshot 


"ROBERT,  WHAT  IS  MR.  GALLIVANT's  BALANCE?" 


137 


I38  TIN-TYPES. 

Consolidated,  Thwicket.  Truth  is,  I'm  afraid 
of  it.  My  wits  haven't  been  working  right 
here  lately.  But  I'll  just  give  you  a  check  for 
$20,000,  and  you  can  buy  me  a  nice  little 
block  of  Michigan  Border — say  a  hundred 
shares,  just  to  see  how  the  cat  jumps,  you 
know." 

Thwicket  took  the  check,  but  with  a  troubled 
air.  "My  dear  Gallivant,"  he  said,  "why  do  a 
thing  like  that?  I'm  very  glad  to  have  an 
other  order  from  you,  but  I  don't  want  to  see 
a  valuable  customer  like  you  lose  any  more 
money.  Michigan  Border  was  doing  very  well 
a  month  ago,  but  it  is  declining  now,  and  for 
good  reasons.  Let's  take  a  flyer  in  Snapshot !" 

"Hand  me  that  check!"  said  Mr.  Gallivant 
in  a  most  decisive  tone  and  with  a  profoundly 
irritated  air.  "Hand  it  back,  Thwicket !  Hand 
it  right  over,  and  draw  me  a  check  for  my 
balance  of  $382.22.  I'm  going  to  cut  the 
d — d  Gordian  knot  and  get  out  of  this!  No 
use  talking,  my  head's  all  bemuddled.  'F  I 
was  to  go  into  the  Street  to-day  I'd  lose  my 
whole  fortune.  Now,  don't  argue  with  me,  old 
man,  I'm  out  of  sorts,  and  the  best  thing  for 
me  to  do  is  to  stop  right  short  till  I  get  clear 
headed  again.  Draw  me  that  check.  Let  me 
have  every  penny  I've  got  on  your  books.  I'm 
going  up  to  my  place  in  the  country  and  spend 


TIN-TYPES.  139 

a  month  reading  Greek  plays.  If  anything  '11 
calm  me,  that  will." 

The  broker  looked  vastly  disappointed,  but 
smiled  consentingly.  He  returned  the  $20,000 
check,  which  Mr.  Gallivant  tore  to  pieces  with 
a  great  show  of  nervousness  and  irritation,  and 
in  another  moment,  possessed  of  his  precious 
$382.22,  he  departed  gloomily. 

But  a  long  and  cheery  smile,  that  reached 
nearly  to  the  tips  of  his  mustache  and  almost 
sufficed  to  give  them  a  faint  curl,  spread  itself 
over  his  face  as  he  turned  from  Wall  Street 
into  Broadway.  He  caressed  the  check  with 
his  fingers  and  softly  observed,  "H'm,  I  flatter 
myself  that  was  well  done.  I  have  the  money, 
and  Thwicket  has  an  abiding  confidence  in  my 
wealth, — but  oh,  ye  gods !  what  would  I  give  to 
be  able  to  put  my  fine  Italian  hand  into  that 
Snapshot  corner!" 

Mr.  Gallivant  returned  to  his  office  and  en 
deavored  to  fasten  his  attemtion  upon  the  rec 
ords  of  a  title  search  prepared  by  his  clerk, 
but  he  found  himself  ever  going  over  the  fig 
ures,  57fc  57£,  57f 

"Heavens!"  he  said  presently,  "I  can't  stand 
this  any  longer.  I  must  see  the  ticker.  I 
must  find  out  how  it  opened  to  day.  Gad,  I'll 
go  crazy  if  I  sit  here  all  day  mumbling  '57^!'  " 

He  started  up  and  had  half  put  on  his  coat, 


140  TIN-TYPES. 

when  the  office  door  was  flung  open  and 
Thwicket  rushed  in  breathless. 

"Seventy-two,"  he  shouted  wildly.  "Opened 
at  sixty-five !  Leaped  right  up  to  68,  then  to 
70,  then  to  72.  Now's  your  chance,  old  man. 
Say  the  word  and  say  it  quick.  Never  mind 
about  the  $20,000.  We'll  settle  up  when  the 
day  is  over,  and  every  second  you  lose  now 
will  cost  you  hundreds  of  dollars.  It's  sure  to 
go  to  1 60.  Don't  keep  me  waiting — say  the 
word?" 

Mr.  Gallivant  jammed  his  hands  deep  into 
his  pockets  to  prevent  their  betraying  his  ex 
citement,  and  hemmed  and  hawed. 

"Do  you  really  think  it's  worth  while, 
Thwicket !" 

"Great  guns,  man  !     You  make  me — " 

"Now,  don't  be  nervous,  Thwicket.  When 
I  trust  a  man  to  spend  my  money  for  me  I 
want  him  cool  and  calm." 

"But  you're  losing  valuable  time !  It's  jump 
ing  up  every  minute.  The  Exchange  has  gone 
wild !  Everybody's  in  a  furor.  You  can  make 
a  mint  if  you  go  right  in." 

"All  right,  drive  ahead.  But  use  judgment, 
Thwicket.  Remember  I  don't  want  to  invest 
more  than  $20,000,  and  you  should  preserve 
your  equanim — " 

But  Thwicket  was  gone,  and  when  the  door 


"SEVENTY-TWO,"  HE  SHOUTED  WILDLY. 


141 


14*  TIN-TYPES. 

closed  behind  him  Mr.  Gallivant  gave  a  leap 
from  the  floor  where  he  stood  to  the  sofa  eight 
feet  away!  Then  he  leaped  back.  Then  he 
picked  up  a  pair  of  dumb-bells  and  swung 
them  fiercely  at  the  imminent  risk  of  his  head 
and  the  furniture  of  the  room.  Then  finally 
he  drew  from  his  desk  a  bottle  of  brandy  and 
took  a  long,  strong  pull. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  smacking  his  lips,  "now  I'll 
get  ready  and  go  to  the  street  and  watch  the 
tumult." 

Disposing,  as  soon  as  he  could,  of  the  corre 
spondence  on  his  desk,  he  presently  made  his 
way  to  Thwicket's  office.  The  broker  was  still 
at  the  Stock  Exchange.  He  grabbed  at  the 
tapes  and  looked  for  Snapshot.  There  was 
nothing  on  them  but  Snapshot.  "Snap.  Col. 
93,"  "Snap.  Col.  96!,"  "Snap.  Col." — even  as  he 
stood  by  the  ticker  and  watched  the  machine 
roll  out  its  stream  of  white  paper — "Snap.  Col. 
108!" 

Mr.  Gallivant's  eyes  blurred.  He  felt  queer 
in  his  knees.  The  perspiration  broke  out 
fiercely  all  over  his  plump  little  body.  "Why 
the  mischief  doesn't  Thwicket  come  in?"  he 
murmured.  "Why  don't  he  sell  and  get  out 
of  this?  Ten, twenty,  thirty — great  guns!  I've 
made  $50,000  already!  It  can't  go  on  like 
this  much  longer.  It'll  break  in  half  an  hour, 


TIN-TYPES.  143 

'gad,  I  know  it  will — I  feel  it  in  my  bones!  If 
Thwicket  doesn't  sell  inside  of  thirty  minutes 
I'm  a  goner,  and  what's  worse,  he'll  be  a  goner 
with  me!  What's  this!  117!  By  the  great 
horn  spoon,  I  must  get  hold  of  Thwicket ! 
Thwicket!  Thwicket!  My  kingdom  for 
Thwicket !" 

Mr.  Gallivant  dropped  the  tapes  and  rushed 
frantically  into  the  street  and  across  to  the 
entrance  of  the  Exchange.  He  dispatched  a 
messenger  across  the  floor  to  find  his  broker, 
but  who  could  find  which  in  that  tumultuous 
mob?  The  Exchange  floor  was  crowded  with 
a  crazy  body  of  yelling  men,  their  faces  boiled 
into  crimson,  their  eyes  glowing  with  a  fierce 
fire,  their  hats  banged  out  of  shape,  their  coats 
in  many  cases  torn  into  shreds,  jostling,  tumb 
ling,  jumping,  stretching  all  over  each  other 
in  riotous  confusion.  Fat  men  were  being 
squeezed  into  pancakes,  little  men  were  being 
covered  out  of  sight,  tall  men  were  being  clam 
bered  upon  as  if  their  manifest  destiny  were  to 
serve  as  poles,  and  every  man  of  them,  big, 
short,  thin,  fat,  lank,  and  heavy,  was  flourishing 
his  arms  in  the  air  and  howling  at  the  top  of 
his  voice ! 

Mr.  Gallivant's  messenger  returned  in  a  few 
moments  with  the  report  that  Mr.  Thwicket 
could  not  be  found.  Quivering  with  excite- 


144  TIN-TYPES. 

ment,  Mr.  Gallivant  started  forth  in  further 
search.  At  the  door  of  the  Exchange  he  met 
his  office-boy,  who  told  him  the  broker  was 
searching  for  him  high  and  low— had  been  at 
the  office  and  vyas  now  in  the  Savarin  cafe. 
Thither  Mr.  Gallivant  rushed  as  fast  as  his  legs 
could  carry  him,  only  to  learn  that  Thwicket 
had  just  gone  out  asking  every  man  he  met  if 
he  had  seen  Gallivant.  The  lawyer  was  in 
despair.  He  glanced  at  the  ticker — "Snap. 
Col.  I341!" 

"Heavens!"  he  shrieked,  "will  nobody  seize 
that  crazy  Thwicket  and  hold  him  till  I  come !" 

He  ran  at  full  speed  to  the  broker's  office. 
Thwicket  had  left  two  minutes  before,  hav 
ing  learned  that  Gallivant  was  at  the  Savarin. 
He  turned  around  again  and  started  once  more 
to  dash  forth,  when  he  saw  the  broker  coming 
along  in  reckless  haste. 

In  an  instant  Mr.  Gallivant  was  all  repose — 
all  serenity  and  ease.  He  dropped  quietly  into 
a  chair  and  picked  up  the  morning  paper.  In 
rushed  Thwicket,  disheveled,  frantic,  breath 
less. 

"At  last!"  he  cried.  "It's  136.  It'll  break 
in  another  ten  minutes!  Hadn't  I  better  get 
from  under?" 

"Still  excited,  Thwicket?"  answered  Mr. 
Gallivant  reproachfully.  "My  dear  boy,  I'm 


"YOU'VE  DONE  VERY  WELL,  TH WICKET. 


145 


146  TIN-TYPES. 

afraid  you've  not  got  a  proper  hold  upon  your 
self.  Yes,  probably  you'd  better  unload.  Per 
haps  now's  as  good  a  moment  as  any.  But 
be—" 

Thwicket  did  not  wait  for  the  rest.  He 
fled.  When  he  returned  half  an  hour  later 
his  face  was  radiant,  but  his  collar  wilted. 
"Sold!"  he  cried,  "at  148,  and  busted  at 
152!" 

By  a  quick,  spontaneous  motion,  Mr.  Galli- 
vant's  mustaches  drew  themselves  in  a  loving 
curl  around  his  nose,  but  for  the  rest  he  was 
merely  cheery — gently  cheery — as  he  always 
was. 

"You've  done  very  well,  Thwicket,"  he  said 
commendingly.  "You've  quite  justified  my 
confidence.  You  're  a  knowing  fellow,  and  I  '11 — 
er — what's  the  proceeds?" 

"A  hundred  and  thirteen  thousand — rather  a 
fair  day's  work." 

"That  it  is.  Send  around  your  check  for 
the  hundred,  and  let  the  thirteen  stay  on 
account.  By-by,  I'll  see  you  again  in  a  day 
or  two." 

Mr.  Gallivant  walked  out  into  the  street 
upon  his  usual  ramble.  "Strikes  me,"  he  said 
musingly,  "that  I  ought  to  do  something 
handsome  for  Thwicket  now — I  really  ought. 
My  profit  is  $i  13,000,  I  doubt  if  his  will  reach 


TIN-TYPES.  147 

even  $500.  That  doesn't  look  quite  fair,  seeing 
that  he  did  the  business  all  on  his  own  money. 
The  deuce  of  it  is,  though,  that  it's  demoraliz 
ing  to  make  presents  to  your  brokers.  After 
all,  business  is  business !" 


VIII. 
TULITZ. 

WITH  the  circumstances  that  brought  Tu- 
litz  into  trouble  we  have  nothing  to  do. 
Indeed,  whatever  I  may  have  known  about 
them  once  I  have  long  ago  forgotten.  I 
seem  to  remember,  but  very  vaguely,  that  he 
stabbed  somebody,  though,  .at  the  same  time, 
I  find  in  my  memory  an  impression  that  he 
forged  somebody's  name.  This  I  distinctly 
recall,  that  the  amount  of  bail  in  which  he  was 
held  was  $5000 — a  circumstance  strongly  con 
firmatory  of  the  notion  that  his  assault  was 
upon  life  and  not  upon  property.  In  this 
excellent  country,  where  property  rights  are 
guarded  with  great  zeal  and  care,  and  the  sur 
plus  population  is  large,  we  charge  more  for 
the  liberty  of  forgers  than  of  murderers.  Had 
Tulitz  committed  forgery,  his  bail  bond  would 
scarcely  have  been  less  than  $10,000.  Since, 
beyond  all  question,  it  was  only  $5000,  I  think 
I  must  be  right  in  the  idea  that  he  stabbed  a 
man. 

It  was  in  default   of  that  sum,  $5000,   that 
Tulitz,  commonly  called  the  Baron  Tulitz,  alias 
148 


TIN-TYPES.  149 

d'Ercevenne,  commonly  called  the  Marquis 
d'Ercevenne,  was  committed  to  the  Tombs 
Prison  to  await  the  action  of  the  Grand  Jury. 
At  this  time  Tulitz — I  call  him  Tulitz  with 
out  intending  any  partiality  for  that  name  over 
the  alias  of  d'Ercevenne,  but  merely  because 
Tulitz  is  a  shorter  word  to  write.  I  doubt  if 
he  had  any  preference  between  them  himself, 
except  in  the  way  of  business.  He  was  just  as 
likely,  other  things  being  equal,  to  present 
his  card  bearing  the  words  "M.  le  Marquis 
d'Ercevenne,"  as  his  other  card  with  the  words 
upon  it  "Freiherr  von  Tulitz."  It  has  been 
remarked  frequently  that  when  he  was  the 
Baron  his  tone  and  manner  were  exceedingly 
French,  while  when  he  was  the  Marquis  he 
spoke  with  a  distinct  German  accent.  None 
of  his  acquaintances  was  able  to  account  for 
this. 

But  as  I  was  saying,  when  Tulitz  was  sent  to 
the  Tombs  he  was  in  hard  luck.  Formerly  he 
had  whipped  the  social  trout-stream  with  great 
success.  As  the  Marquis  he  had  composed 
some  pretty  odes,  had  led  the  german  at  Mrs. 
de  Folly's  assembly,  had  driven  to  Hempstead 
with  the  Coaching  Club,  and  had  been  seen  in 
Mrs.  Castor's  box  at  the  opera.  As  the  Baron 
Tulitz,  he  had  attended  the  races,  and  had 
been  a  frequenter  of  all  the  great  gaming 


15°  TIN-TYPES. 

resorts.  The  newspapers  called  him  a 
"plunger,"  and  a  story  went  the  rounds,  in 
which  he  was  represented  to  have  wrecked  a 
pool-seller,  who  thereupon  committed  suicide. 
The  Baron  always  denied  this  story,  which  the 
Marquis  often  repeated.  Indeed  the  Marquis 
was  often  quoted  to  the  Baron  as  an  authority 
for  it. 

But  the  tide  had  turned,  and  now  Tulitz  was 
on  his  back  with  never  a  friend  to  help  him. 
"Fi*  t'ousan*  tollaire !"  he  exclaimed,  as  the 
Justice  fixed  his  bail,  blending  both  his  French 
and  his  German  accent  with  strict  impartiality, 
"V'y  you  not  make  him  den,  dwenty,  a  hun- 
tret  t'ousandt !" 

A  penniless  prisoner  in  the  Tombs  is  not  an 
object  of  much  consideration,  as  Tulitz  discov 
ered  to  his  profound  disgust.  For  two  days 
he  paced  his  cell  with  the  restless,  incessant 
tread  of  a  caged  hyena.  He  disdainfully  re 
jected  the  beef  soup,  the  hunk  of  bread  and 
the  black  coffee  served  to  him  more  or  less  fre 
quently,  and  for  two  days  and  nights  he 
neither  ate  nor  spoke.  The  Tombs  cells  are 
built  of  thick  stone,  entered  through  a  heavy 
iron  door,  that  is  provided  with  a  small  grat 
ing.  Tulitz's  cell  was  on  the  second  tier. 
Around  this  tier  extends  a  narrow  gallery, 
along  which  the  guard  walks  every  now  and 


Fl'  TOUSANT  TOLLAIRE  !      VY  YOU   NOT   MAKE   HIM   A 

HUNTRET   TOUSANT  ?  " 


15 2  TIN-TYPES. 

then,  to  see  that  all  is  as  it  should  be.  The 
guard  annoyed  Tulitz.  Every  time  he  passed 
he  would  peer  in  and  give  a  sort  of  grunt. 
This  became  painfully  exasperating  to  the 
Baron. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day  of 
his  imprisonment,  Tulitz,  desperate  with  hun 
ger,  rage,  and  despair,  sat  down  upon  the  stool 
in  his  cell  and  glared  viciously  at  the  grating. 
The  guard's  face  was  there. 

"Ha!"  cried  Tulitz,  in  a  shrill  voice,  "keep 
avay !  You  tink  I  von  tarn  mouse,  and  you  ze 
cat,  hey?  You  sit  outside  ze  cage  viz  your 
claw  out  and  your  tail  stiff,  ready  to  pounce 
on  ze  mouse.  Mon  Dieu  !  How  I  hate !" 

The  guard  unlocked  the  iron  door  and 
stepped  inside.  "Don't  make  sech  a  racket 
over  nawthin',"  he  said.  "De  warden  says  yer 
gotter  do  some  eatin'." 

"I  kill  ze  warden  if  he  keep  not  his  mechant 
chute!" 

"Wotcher  goin'  ter  do?     Starve?" 

"If  I  choose  starve,  how  you  prevent  him, 
hey?  How  make  you  me  eat?  Voil&,  btte!" 
Tulitz  drew  himself  to  his  full  height,  turned 
up  his  shirt-sleeves  and  bared  his  great,  muscu 
lar  arm. 

"Oh,  all  right,"  said  the  guard.  "It's  all  one 
to  me.  Starve  if  yer  wanter.  I'm  agreeable." 


TIN-TYPES.  153 

"I  vant  netting,  rien,  rien  /"  said  Tulitz.  "I 
vant  to  be  leave  alone." 

"Dat  aint  much.  Mos'  people  wat  comes 
here  is  more  graspin'.  Mos'  people  wants  ter 
git  out." 

"Ha!"  said  Tulitz. 

"De  warden  said  fer  me  ter  come  in  here  an' 
tell  yer'  he'd  send  fer  anybody  yer  wanter 
see." 

"Zere  is  nopotty." 

"Aincher  got  no  friends?" 

"Ven  I  haf  money,  I  have  friend — beau- 
coup,  more  friend  as  I  know  vat  to  do  viz.  I  haf 
no  money  now." 

"Wot's  your  bail?" 

"FT  tousant  tollaire!  Bah!  Vat  is  ft"  tous- 
ant  tollaire?  Many  time  I  spend  him  viz  no 
more  care  as  I  light  my  cigar.  A  bagatelle ! 
But,"  and  he  added  this  with  a  curiously  grim 
expression,  "I  haf  no  bagatelle  to-day." 

The  guard  sidled  up  to  Tulitz  and  whispered 
in  his  ear,  "What'll  yer  gimme  if  I  gitcher  a 
bondsman?" 

"Ha!"    said  Tulitz,  "you  haf  ze  man?" 

"I  knows  a  man,"  replied  the  guard  reflect 
ively,  "who  might  do  it  on  my  recommend. 
Sometimes,  w'en  a  man  aint  got  no  frien's, 
but  kin  lay  aroun'  'im  an'  scoop  tergedder  a 
couple  er  hundred  dollars,  I  mention  him  ter 


1 54  TIN-TYPES. 

my  frien'  wid  a  recommend,  an'  dat  settles  it, 
out  he  comes." 

"Two  hundret  tollaire !"  cried  Tulitz,  almost 
piteously.  "Ven  I  efer  t'ink  my  liperty  cost 
me  two  huntret  tollaire  and  I  haf  not  got  him. 
Zis  blow  kill  all  zat  is  to  me  of  my  self-respect ! 
Je  suis  hors  de  moi-meme  /" 

"Why,  you  orter  be  able  to  raise  dat  much 
tin,"  said  the  guard. 

Tulitz  jumped  from  his  bed  to  the  floor  with 
a  cry  such  as  a  wild  beast  might  have  given  as 
it  sprang  from  peril  into  safety.  He  demanded 
pencil  and  paper,  and  with  them  he  scribbled 
a  message.  "Send  for  me  zat  note !"  he  said. 
"Bring  me  a.  filet  de  bceuf,  a  pdte  de  fois  gras, 
and  a  bottle  of  Burgundy,  and  bring  him  all 
quick !  Corinne !  La  belle  Corinne !  Chdrie 
amie,  vot  I  haf  svear  I  lofe  and  cherish !  I  haf 
not  remember  you,  Corinne !" 

A  throng  of  people,  big  and  little,  young  and 
old,  were  waiting  in  the  corridors  of  the  war 
den's  office  the  next  morning,  eager  for  the 
bell  to  strike  the  signal  that  would  admit  them 
into  the  prisons.  They  were  were  mostly 
women.  Here  and  there  in  the  crowd  was  a 
little  boy  carrying  a  tin  can  with  something  in 
it  good  to  eat,  sent,  doubtless,  by  his  old 
mother  to  her  scamp  of  a  son.  The  little  beg 
gar  has  his  first  experiences  of  a  prison  admin- 


TIN-TYPES.  155 

istering  to  the  comforts  of  his  big,  ruffianly 
brother,  probably  a  great  hero  in  his  eyes. 

For  the  most  part,  the  crowd  is  made  up  of 
young  women.  There,  muffled  closely,  is  the 
wife  of  a  defaulter,  who  was  caught  in  the  act. 
Three  days  ago  she  held  her  head  as  high  as 
any.  Now  it  is  bent  low  and  hidden  with 
shame.  Yonder,  terrified  and  broken-hearted, 
is  the  sister  of  a  man  who  shot  another.  He  is 
no  criminal.  There  was  a  quarrel  about  a  mat 
ter  of  money.  The  lie  was  given,  a  blow  fol 
lowed,  and  then  a  shot.  Her  brother  a  mur 
derer!  Her  brother,  all  kindness,  docility,  and 
goodness,  locked  up  in  a  place  like  this  with 
thieves  and  hardened  convicts !  It  was  a  fatal 
shot — ah,  me,  so  very  fatal,  so  widely  fatal ! 

Many  of  them,  though,  are  laughing  and 
joking  with  each  other.  They  have  got  ac 
quainted  coming  here  to  look  after  their  hus 
bands,  lovers,  brothers,  fathers,  and  sons. 
They  bow  cheerily  as  they  come  in,  and  say 
what  a  fine  day  it  is,  and  how  they  missed  you 
yesterday,  and  they  hope  nothing  was  the  mat 
ter  at  home.  Among  them  are  brazen  jades 
who  chatter  saucily  with  the  guards,  and  these 
are  the  best  treated  of  all.  They  are  asked  no 
gruff,  surly  questions,  but  with  a  wink  and  a 
jest  in  they  go. 

On  the  outer  edge  of  the  crowd,  among  those 


156  TIN-TYPES. 

who  waited  till  the  first  rush  was  over,  stood  a 
dark,  wiry  little  woman  with  a  face  remarkable 
alike  for  its  resolution  and  its  innocence.  She 
could  not  have  been  more  than  twenty-five 
years  old.  She  looked  as  if  she  had  seen  much 
of  the  world,  but  had  illy  learned  the  les 
sons  of  her  experience.  This  combination  of 
strength  and  simplicity  had  wrought  a  curious 
effect  upon  her  manner.  There  was  no  timid 
ity  about  her,  but  much  gentleness.  She  was 
modest  and  clothed  with  repose,  and  yet  the 
outlines  of  her  face  plainly  informed  you  that 
in  the  presence  of  a  sufficient  emergency  she 
was  quite  prepared  to  go  anywhere  or  do  any 
thing. 

"I  want  to  see  Monsieur  Tulitz,"  she  said  to 
the  entry  clerk,  when  her  opportunity  came. 

He  gave  her  a  ticket  without  asking  any 
questions,  except  the  formal  ones,  and  then 
turned  her  over  to  the  matron. 

The  matron  of  the  Tombs  has  been  there 
many  years,  and  she  knows  how  to  read  faces. 

"Your  ticket  says  you  are  Madame  Tulitz?" 
said  the  matron. 

"Yes." 

"I  must  search  you." 

"Very  well." 

"It  must  be  thorough." 

"Very  well." 


"I  WANT  TO  SEE  MONSIEUR  TULITZ,"  SHE  SAID. 


157 


158  TIN-TYPES. 

"Please  take  off  your  hat  and  let  down  your 
hair." 

She  did  as  she  was  bidden,  and  a  great  mass 
of  dark  hair  tumbled  nearly  to  her  feet.  The 
matron  immediately  and  with  practiced  dexter 
ity  twisted  it  up  again.  Then  her  shoes,  dress, 
and  corsets  were  removed,  until  the  matron  was 
enabled  to  tell  that  nothing  could  by  any  pos 
sibility  be  concealed  about  her. 

"It's  all  right,"  said  the  matron.  "I'm  sorry 
to  trouble  you  so  much,  but  I  have  to  be  very 
careful." 

"You  needn't  apologize.     Now  can  I  go?" 

"Yes." 

She  adjusted  her  hat  and  proceeded  through 
the  long  corridors  out  into  the  prison  yard,  and 
thence  into  the  old  prison  where  Tulitz  was 
confined.  The  guard  who  had  sent  her  Tulitz's 
letter  led  her  to  his  cell,  and  brought  a  stool 
for  her  to  sit  upon  outside  his  grated  iron  door. 

"My  ravissante  Corinne !"  cried  Tulitz. 

She  put  her  fingers  through  the  bars,  and  he 
bent  to  kiss  them,  coming,  as  he  did  so,  in 
contact  with  two  little  files  of  the  hardest 
steel. 

"Diable!"  he  said. 

"I  had  them  in  my  hat.  I  made  them  serve 
as  the  stems  of  these  lilies." 

"Ze  woman   she  make  ze  wily  t'ing.     How 


TIN-TYPES.  159 

young  and  charmante  she  seem  for  one  so  like 
ze  fox!  Ah,  Corinne,  my  sweetest  lofe — " 

"You  don't  mean  that." 

"Not  mean  him  !  Man  Dieu!  How  can  you 
haf  ze  heart  to  say  ze  cruel  word.  Corinne, 
you  are  ze  only  frient  I  haf  in  ze  whole  bad 
worlt." 

"Yes,  I  know  that.     But  not  the  only  wife." 

"Why  you  torture  me  so,  Corinne?" 

"I  wont.  We'll  let  it  go.  You  need  me,  I 
suppose?" 

"You  use  all  ze  cold  word,  Corinne.  I  neet 
you  !  Out,  0ui,  I  efer  neet  you.  I  neet  you  ven  I 
stay  from  you  ze  longest.  I  neet  you  ven  ze  bad 
come  into  my  heart  and  drive  out  ze  good  and 
tender,  and  leave  only  ze  hard,  and  make  me 
crazy  and  full  of  dream  of  fortune.  Zen  I  am 
out  of  myself  and  den  I  neet  you  ze  most, 
Corinne.  Zat  I  haf  been  cruel  and  vicked,  I 
know,  but  I  am  punish  now.  Now,  I  neet  you 
in  my  despair,  but  if  you  come  to  speak  bitter, 
I  am  sorry  to  haf  send  for  you." 

"I'll  not  be  bitter,  Tulitz.  I  don't  believe  you 
love  me,  and  I  never  will  believe  it  again.  So 
don't  say  tender  things.  They  only  make  me 
sad.  Tell  me  what — " 

"You  do  pelief  I  lofe  you." 

"No." 

"C/te'rie," 


160  TIN-TYPES. 

"Don't,  Tulitz!" 

"You  know  I  haf  a  so  hot  blood.  It  tingle 
viz  lofe  for  you  and  I  am  sane.  Zen  I  dream. 
I  see  some  strange  sight — power,  money,  ze 
people  at  my  feet — ze  people  I  hate,  bah !  I 
see  zem  all  bend.  Zen  I  am  insane  and  my 
very  lofe  make  me  vorse.  Ah,  Corinne,  if  you 
see  my  heart,  you  vould  not  speak  so  cold.  If 
I  could  preak  zis  iron  door  zat  bar  me  from  you 
and  draw  you  close  to  me,  Corinne,  vere  you 
could  feel  ze  quick  beat  zat  say,  'lofe!  lofe! 
lofe!' — if  I  could  take  your  hand  and  kees — " 

"Tulitz!" 

"My  sveetheart!" 

"Hush,  please,  Tulitz.  Don't  say  those 
things  now.  I  can't  stand  them.  I  shall  scream. 
Tulitz,  I  love  you  so !" 

"Ah,  I  know  zat.  You  haf  no  dream  zat  rob 
you  of  your  mind.  And  I  shall  haf  no  more 
soon.  Ven  ze  trial  come,  and  ze  shury  make 
me  guilty,  and  ze  shudge — " 

"No!  no!     You  must  escape." 

"Ze  reech  escape,  little  von.  Ze  poor  nefer. 
Zat  is  law.  Ha!  ha!  you  know  not  law. 
Law  is  ze  science  by  vich  a  man  who  has 
money  do  as  he  tarn  please  and  snap  his  ringer — 
so  !  and  shrug  his  shoulder — so  !  and  say,  'You 
not  like  it?  Vat  I  care,  Monsieur?'  and  by  vich 
ze  poor  man,  vedder  he  guilty  or  not,  haf  no 


TIN-TYPES.  i6l 

single  chance,  not  von,  to  escape.  I  haf  not 
efen  ze  two  huntret  tollaire  zat  gif  me  my 
liberty  till  ze  trial  come." 

"Neither  have  I,  Tulitz,  and  the  only  way  I 
can  get  it  is  to  part  with  something  I  love  bet 
ter  than — never  mind,  you  shall  have  the  two 
hundred  dollars." 

"You  mean  our  ring,  Corinne?" 

"Yes." 

"You  shall  not  sell  ze  ring.     Nefer!" 

"But  I  must.     We  will  get  it  back." 

"No,  I  forbid!  I  stay  here  first."  Corinne's 
face  fairly  glowed  with  tenderness. 

"Let  me  do  as  I  think  best,  darling,"  she 
said.  "The  first  thing  is  to  get  you  out  of 
this  wretched  place.  Now  tell  me  all  about  it." 

He  told  her  all,  or,  at  least,  all  he  needed  to 
tell,  and  she  left  him  with  the  understanding 
that  she  should  meet  the  guard  in  the  City 
Hall  Park  two  hours  later  and  arrange  about 
the  bail-bond  with  a  man  whom  he  should 
present  to  her.  She  hurried  up-town  and  col 
lected  in  her  lodgings  half  a  dozen  valuable 
pieces  of  jewelry.  These  she  took  to  a  pawn 
shop  and  upon  them  she  realized  something 
more  than  the  sum  necessary  to  obtain  Tulitz's 
bondsman.  At  the  appointed  hour  she  was 
walking  leisurely  through  the  Park,  and  soon 
found  herself  approaching  two  men.  One  she 


162  TIN-TYPES. 

recognized  as  the  guard.  The  other  was  an 
elderly  man  dressed  in  a  black  suit  of  broadcloth 
which,  in  its  time,  had  been  very  fine  indeed 
But  it  was  made  for  him  when  he  was  younger 
and  less  corpulent  than  now,  and  he  bulged  it 
out  in  a  way  that  was  trying  to  the  stitches 
and  the  buttons.  His  silk  hat  was  shiny,  but 
exceedingly  worn,  and  the  boots  upon  his  feet, 
despite  his  creditable  efforts  to  make  them  ap 
pear  at  all  possible  advantage,  were  in  a  rebel 
lious  humor,  like  a  glum  soldier  in  need  of 
sleep.  His  hair  was  bushy  and  gray,  and  his 
mustache  meant  to  be  gray,  too,  but  his  habit 
of  chewing  the  ends  of  his  cigars  had  resulted 
in  its  taking  on  a  yellow  border. 

"Dis  is  the  genTman  wot'll  go  on  Mr.  Tu- 
litz's  bond,  mum,"  said  the  guard.  "His  name's 
Rivers." 

"Madam  Tulitz,  I  am  your  humble  and  obe 
dient  servant.  Colonel  Rivers,  Colonel  Ed 
ward  Lawrence  Rivers,  and  most  happy  in  this 
unfortunate  emergency  to  serve  you.  I  have 
read  in  the  papers  of  M.  Tulitz's  disagreeable — 
er — situation.  It  is  a  gross  outrage.  The  bail 
is  $5000,  this  gentleman  tells  me.  Infamous, 
perfectly  infamous!  The  idea  of  requiring 
such  a  bond  for  so  trivial  an  affair.  When  I 
was  in  Congress  I  introduced  an  Amendment 
to  the  Constitution  providing  that  no  bail 


'  MADAME  TULITZ,    I   AM   YOUR   HUMBLE   AND   OBEDIENT 

SERVANT." 


163 


1 64  TIN-TYPES. 

should  be  demanded  in  excess  of  $500.  It 
didn't  get  through ;  the  capitalistic  influence 
was  too  much  for  me.  However,  I'd  just  as 
lief,  to  tell  the  truth,  go  on  M.  Tulitz's  bond 
for  five  thousand  as  for  one.  I  know  he'll  be 
where  he's  wanted  when  the  time  comes,  and 
if  he  isn't,  the  bail-bond  will.  They'll  have 
that  to  console  themselves  with,  anyway." 

"Where  are  we  to  go?"  asked  Corinne. 

"To  the  police  court.  I'll  show  you;  but 
when  we  get  there  you  mustn't  ask  me  any 
questions.  Ask  anybody  else  but  me.  I'm 
always  very  ignorant  in  the  police  court — 
never  know  anything,  except  my  answers  to 
the  surety  examination.  Those  I  always  learn 
by  heart.  Now —  '  he  turned  to  the  guard, 
and  said  parenthetically,  "All  right,  my  boy," 
whereupon  the  guard  disappeared.  "Now,  just 
take  my  arm,  if  you  please ;  you  needn't  be 
afraid,  ha!  ha!  I'm  old,  and  wont  hurt  you. 
You  see,  we  must  be  friends,  old  friends.  Bless 
you,  my  child,  I've  known  you  from  a  baby, 
knew  your  father  before  you,  dear  old  boy,  and 
promised  him  on  his  dying  bed  I'd  be  a  father 
to  his — er — by  the  way,  my  dear,  what's  your 
name?" 

"Corinne.     Do  you  want  my  maiden  name?" 

"No,  never  mind  that.  I  always  supply  a 
maiden  name  myself  when  I  deal  with  ladies, 


TIN-TYPES.  165 

on  the  ground,  you  see,  that  it's  much  better 
to  keep  real  names  out  of  bail-bonds,  even 
where  they  don't  signify.  In  fact,  the  less 
real  you  put  in,  anyhow,  the  better.  My  sig 
nature  must  be  on  as  many  as  a  thousand  bail- 
bonds  first  and  last,  in  this  city,  Boston,  Chi 
cago,  San  Francisco,  and  other  places,  and  I've 
never  yet  experienced  the  slightest  trouble.  I 
think  my  good  fortune  is  almost  wholly  due 
to  the  circumstance  that  I  never  repeat  myself. 
I  always  tell  a  new  story  every  time." 

"Do  they  know  you  at  the  place  where  we're 
going?" 

"I  fervently  hope  they  don't,  my  dear.  It 
wouldn't  do  M.  Tulitz  any  good,  or  me  either, 
if  they  did.  No,  no,  you  must  introduce  me. 
I  am  your  friend,  your  lifelong  friend,  Colonel 
Edward  Lawrence  Rivers.  I  am  a  retired  mer 
chant.  Formerly  I  dealt  in  hides — perhaps 
you  had  better  say  in  skins,  my  dear ;  on  sec 
ond  thought,  it  might  be  more  appropriate  to 
say  in  skins,  and  then  again  it  would  be  more 
accurate.  I  like  to  tell  the  truth  when  I  can 
conveniently  and  without  prejudice  to  the 
rights  of  the  defendant.  If  I  haven't  dealt  in 
skins  as  much  as  any  other  man  on  the  face  of 
the  earth,  then  I  don't  know  what  a  skin  is. 
Ha!  ha!  my  dear,  I  think  that's  pretty  good 
for  an  old  man  whose  wits  are  nearly  given  out 


1 66  TIN-TYPES. 

with  the  work  that  has  been  imposed  upon 
them.  Let  me  say  right  here  that  the  clerk  of 
the  court  is  a  knowing  fellow,  and  you  want  to 
mind  your  p's  and  q's.  You  want  to  be  very 
confiding  and  affectionate  in  your  manner 
toward  me,  and  I'll  do  all  the  rest." 

"Is  there  any  danger,  sir?  Will  we  be  found 
out?  Oh  dear!  I'm  dreadfully  nervous." 

"Well,  now,  you  needn't  be,  my  child,  you 
needn't  be.  I've  had  a  great  deal  of  experi 
ence  in  delicate  matters  of  this  kind,  and  I 
guess  we'll  fetch  your  husband  out  all  right. 
As  for  the  danger,  it's  all  mine,  and  as  for  get 
ting  found  out,  that  will  come  in  due  time, 
probably ;  but  when  it  comes  we'll  all  of  us 
endeavor  to  view  it  from  a  remote  stand 
point,  where  we  can  do  so,  I  dare  say,  with 
comparative  equanimity.  So  keep  up  your 
spirits,  my  dear,  and  trust  to  your  old  friend, 
the  friend  of  your  childhood,  Colonel  the  Hon. 
Edward  Lawrence  Rivers,  formerly  a  dealer  in 
skins.  Ah,  here  we  are!  Just  take  a  look  at 
my  necktie,  child.  Is  it  tied  all  right?  And  is 
my  diamond  pin  there?  No?  Well,  where  the 
mischief  can  it  be?  Ah,  yes,  here  it  is  in  my 
pocket.  My  jewel  cases  are  all  portable. 
There !  Now,  we're  ready.  Look  timid,  my 
child,  but  confident  in  the  final  triumph  of 
your  just  and  righteous  cause.  Come  on,'* 


'TIN-TYPES.  167 

They  entered  the  court-room.  Seated  in  an 
inclosure  in  the  custody  of  an  officer  was  the 
Baron  Tulitz.  His  sharp  face  lighted  when  he 
saw  them  approaching,  and,  as  Corinne  took 
her  seat  by  his  side,  he  pressed  her  hand. 
Presently  his  case  was  called,  and  his  lawyer 
arose  to  offer  bail.  He  presented  Colonel 
Rivers.  The  old  man  was  a  spectacle  of  grave 
decorum.  He  answered  the  questions  put  to 
him  about  his  residence,  his  family,  his  place 
of  business  and  his  property,  which  he  conveni 
ently  located  in  Staten  Island,  Niagara  County, 
Jersey  City,  and  Morrisania.  He  was  worth 
$300,000.  He  owed  nothing.  He  displayed 
his  deeds.  He  had  never  'been  a  bondsman 
before.  He  didn't  know  Tulitz,  but  was  will 
ing  to  risk  the  bail  to  restore  peace  to  the 
troubled  mind  of  this  poor  little  child,  the 
orphan  of  his  old  friend  and  neighbor.  Never 
was  there  a  bondsman  offered  more  unfamiliar 
with  the  forms  and  ceremonies  necessary  to 
the  record  of  the  recognizance.  He  had  to  be 
told  where  he  should  sign,  and  even  then  he 
started  to  put  his  name  in  the  wrong  place. 
But  at  last  it  was  done,  and  Tulitz  was  free. 

Corinne's  eyes  were  full  of  tears  when  the 
old  man  gently  drew  her  arm  within  his  and 
led  her  from  the  court-room,  with  Tulitz  and 
his  lawyer  following.  He  walked  with  them 


i68 


TIN-TYPES. 


as  far  as  Broadway,  and  then  he  turned  to  say 
good-by.  He  kissed  her  hand  gallantly,  and 
called  Tulitz  aside. 

"Skip!"  he  said,  "and  be  quick  about  it!" 


IX. 

MR.    McCAFFERTY. 

AN  incident  of  the  late  municipal  election  has 
recently  come  within  my  knowledge,  which 
I  hasten  to  communicate  to  the  public,  in  the 
hope  that  an  investigation  will  be  ordered  by 
the  Legislature,  and,  if  the  facts  be  as  they  are 
represented  here  (this  being  a  faithful  record  of 
what  I  have  been  credibly  told),  in  the  further 
hope  that  the  men  who  have  tampered  with  the 
honor  of  Dennie  McCafTerty  and  his  friend,  The 
Croak,  will  speedily  be  brought  to  justice. 

Late  one  night  toward  the  close  of  Septem 
ber  Dennie  was  walking  down  Houston  Street 
toward  the  Bowery,  when  he  suddenly  espied 
The  Croak  walking  up  Houston  Street  toward 
Broadway.  As  suddenly  The  Croak  espied  him, 
and  both  stopped  short.  They  looked  at  one 
another  long  and  intently,  and  then  Dennie 
wheeled  around  and  without  a  word  led  the  way 
into  a  saloon  near  at  hand. 

"Dice!"  said  he  to  the  bartender.  He 
rattled  the  box  and  threw.  "Three  fives !"  he 
cried. 

169 


DENNIE  M'CAFFERTY. 


170 


TIN-TYPES.  171 

The  Croak  handled  the  dice-box  with  great 
deliberation.  Presently  he  rolled  the  ivories 
out.  "Three  sixes,"  he  said  slowly,  "an'  I'll 
take  a  pony  er  brandy." 

"That  settles  it !"  cried  Dennie  joyously. 
"It's  you,  Croaker,  sure  pop.  My  eyes  did  not 
deceive  me.  I  thought  they  had,  Croaker.  I 
thought  I  must  be  laboring  under  a  mental 
strain.  When  I  saw  you  coming  up  the  street 
I  says  to  myself,  'That's  The  Croak.'  Then  I 
took  another  look,  and  says,  'No,  it  can't  be. 
The  Croak's  in  Joliet  doing  three  years  for 
working  the  sawdust.'  Then  I  looked  again  and 
I  says,  Tt  must  be  The  Croak.  There's  his  cock 
eye  looking  straight  at  me  through  the  wooden 
Indian  in  front  of  the  cigar-store  across  the 
street.'  Then  I  looked  once  more,  and  says, 
'But  it  can't  be.  Three  years  can't  have  passed 
since  The  Croak  and  I  were  dealing  faro  in  old 
McGlory's.'  Once  again  I  looked,  and  I  says, 
'If  it's  The  Croak,  he'll  chuck  a  bigger  dice 
than  mine  and  stick  me  for  drinks,  and  he'll  take 
a  pony  of  brandy.'  There's  the  dice,  there's  the 
pony,  and  there's  The  Croak.  Drink  hearty !" 

They  lifted  their  glasses  and  poured  down 
the  liquor,  and  Dennie  continued,  "How'd  you 
get  out,  Croaker?" 

"Served  me  term,"  said  The  Croak  shortly. 

"What!     Then  is  it  three  years?    Well,  well, 


TOZIE  MONKS,    THB  CROAK. 


172 


TIN-TYPES.  173 

how  the  snows  and  the  blossoms  come  and  go. 
We're  growing  old,  Croaker.  We're  nearing  the 
time  when  the  fleeting  show  will  have  flet.  And 
hanged  if  I  can  see  that  we're  growing  any 
wiser,  or  better,  or  richer — hey?  Thirty  cents! 
Ye  gods,  Croaker,  that  man  says  thirty  cents ! 
Thirty  cents,  and  my  entire  capital  is  a  lonely 
ten-cent  piece  that  I  kept  for  luck.  Thirty 
cents,  and  my  last  collateral  security  hocked 
and  the  ticket  lost !  Croaker,  I'm  in  despair." 

The  Croak  dived  into  his  trowsers  pocket,  took 
out  a  small  roll  of  bills,  handed  one  to  the  bar 
tender  and  another — a  ten-dollar  greenback — 
to  Dennie. 

"Dear  boy!"  said  Dennie,  expanding  into 
smiles.  "What  an  uncommon  comfort  you  are, 
Croaker.  Virtues  such  as  yours  reconcile  me 
to  a  further  struggle  with  this  cold  and  selfish 
world.  It  has  used  me  pretty  hard  since  I  saw 
you  last,  Croaker.  Not  long  after  you  left  for 
the — er — West  I  met  an  elderly  gentleman  from 
Bumville,  whom  I  thought  I  recognized  as  a 
Mr.  Huckster.  I  spoke  to  him,  but  found  my 
self  in  error.  He  said  his  name  wasn't  Huck 
ster,  of  Bumville,  but  Bogle,  of  Bogle's  Cross 
Roads.  I  apologized,  left  him,  and  at  the  cor 
ner  whom  should  I  see  but  Tommy,  the  Tick. 
Incidentally  I  mentioned  to  Tommy  the  curi 
ous  circumstance  of  my  having  mistaken  Mr. 


174  TIN-TYPES. 

Bogle,  of   Bogle's  Cross  Roads,  for  Mr.  Huck 
ster,  of  Bumville.  •    • 

"'Bogle!'  said  Tommy.  'Bogle!  Why,  I 
know  Bogle  well.  He's  a  great  friend  of  my 
uncle's.'  Whereupon  Tommy  hurried  off  after 
Bogle.  I  am  not  even  yet  informed  as  to  what 
took  place  between  Bogle  and  Tommy,  further 
than  that  they  struck  up  a  warm  and  agreeable 
acquaintance ;  that  they  stopped  in  at  a  dozen 
places  on  their  way  uptown;  that  poor  old 
Bogle  got  drunk  and  happy;  that  they  went 
somewhere  and  took  chances  in  a  raffle,  and 
that  they  got  into  a  dispute  over  $2000  which 
Bogle  said  Tommy  had  helped  to  cheat  him 
out  of.  A  couple  of  Byrnes's  malignant  min 
ions  arrested  Tommy,  and  not  satisfied  with 
that  act  of  tyranny  and  oppression,  they  act 
ually  came  to  my  lonely  lodgings  and  arrested 
me.  What  for?  you  ask  in  blank  amazement. 
Has  an  honest  and  industrious  American  citizen 
no  rights?  Must  it  ever  be  that  the  poor  and 
downtrodden  are  sacrificed  to  glut  the  maw  of 
that  ten-fold  tyrant  at  Police  Headquarters? 
They  charged  me  with  larceny,  with  working 
the  confidence  game,  and  despite  my  protes 
tations  and  the  eloquence  of  my  learned  coun 
sel,  who  cost  me  my  last  nickel,  a  hard-hearted 
and  idiotic  jury  convicted  me,  and  that  sandy- 
haired  old  flint  at  the  General  Sessions  gave 


TIN-TYPES,  175 

me  a  year  and  six  months  in  Sing  Sing.  Now, 
Croaker,  when  you  live  in  a  land  where  such 
outrages  are  committed  upon  a  man  simply 
because  he  is  poor,  you  wonder  what  your 
fathers  fought  and  bled  and  died  for,  don't  you, 
Croaker?" 

"I  dunno  'bout  dat,  Dennie,  but  'f  I  cud  talk 
like  er  you  I'd  bin  an  Eyetalian  Prince  by  dis 
time,  wid  a  title  wot  ud  reach  across  dis  room 
an'  jewels  ter  match,"  and  The  Croak  looked  at 
his  friend  in  undisguised  admiration. 

But  Dennie's  humor  was  pensive.  "Croaker," 
said  he,  drawing  the  ten-dollar  bill  out  of  his 
pocket  and  nodding  suggestively  to  the  barten 
der,  "look  out  there  in  the  street.  See  that 
banner  stretched  from  house  to  house.  It 
reads:  'Liberty  and  Equality!  Labor  Must 
Have  the  Fruits  of  Labor !'  Now  what  infer 
nal  lies  those  are !  There's  no  liberty  here ; 
and  as  for  equality,  that  cop  blinking  in  here 
through  the  window  really  believes  he  owns  the 
town.  That  stuff  about  labor  is  all  humbug — 
molasses  for  flies.  They're  going  to  have  an  elec 
tion  to  choose  a  President  shortly.  What's  an 
election,  Croaker?  It's  political  faro,  that's  all. 
The  politicians  run  the  bank.  Honest  fellows, 
like  you  and  me,  run  up  against  it  and  get 
taken  in.  The  crowd  that  does  the  most  cheat 
ing  gets  the  pot.  Ah,  Croaker,  what  are  we 


176  TIN-TYPES. 

coming  to?"  This  thought  was  too  much  for 
Dennie.  He  threw  back  his  head  and  solaced 
himself  with  brandy. 

"As  I  remarked  a  moment  ago,  Croaker,"  he 
said,  "I  have  just  returned  from — er — up  the 
river.  You  have  just  returned  from — er — the 
West.  Our  bosoms  are  heaving  with  hopes  for 
the  future.  We  want  to  earn  an  honest  living. 
But  when  we  come  to  think  of  what  there 
is  left  for  us  to  do  by  which  we  can  regain  the 
proud  position  we  once  had  in  the  community, 
we  find  ourselves  enveloped  in  clouds." 

"I  was  t'inking  er  sumpin',  Dennie,"  The 
Croak  replied,  reflectively,  "jess  when  I  caught 
sight  er  you.  Your  speakin'  bout  polertics 
makes  me  t'ink  of  it  some  more.  W'y  not  get 
up  a  'sociashun?" 

"A  what?" 

"A  'sociashun.  Ev'rybody's  workin'  de  per- 
litical  racket  now;  w'y  not  take  a  hack  at 
it,  too?" 

"Anything,  Croaker,  anything  to  give  me  an 
honest  penny.  But  I  don't  quite  catch  on." 

"Dey's  two  coveys  runnin*  fer  Alderman  over 
on  de  Eas'  Side.  One  of  'em's  Boozy- — you 
knows  Boozy.  He  keeps  a  place  in  de  Bowery. 
De  udder's  a  Dutchman,  name  er  Bockerhei- 
sen.  Boozy 's  de  County  Democracy  man, 
Bockerheisen's  de  Tammany.  Less  git  up  a 


TIN-TYPES.  177 

'sociashun.  You'll  be  president  an'  do  de 
talkin.'  I'll  be  treasurer  an'  hoi'  de  cash." 

"Croaker,  you  may  not  be  eloquent,  but  you 
have  a  genius  all  your  own.  I  begin  dimly  to 
perceive  what  you  are  driving  at.  I  must  think 
this  over.  Meet  me  here  to-morrow  at  noon.1' 

The  district  in  which  the  great  fight  between 
Boozy  and  Bockerheisen  was  to  occur  was 
close  and  doubtful.  Great  interests  were  at 
stake  in  the  election.  Colonel  Boozy  and  Mr. 
Bockerheisen  were  personal  enemies.  Their 
saloons  were  not  far  apart  as  to  distance,  and 
each  felt  that  his  business,  as  well  as  his 
political  future,  depended  on  his  success  in 
this  campaign.  A  third  candidate,  a  Republi 
can,  was  in  the  field,  but  small  attention  was 
paid  to  him.  A  few  days  after  Dennie  and  The 
Croak  had  their  chance  meeting  in  Houston 
Street,  Dennie  walked  into  Colonel  Boozy 's 
saloon.  Boozy  stood  by  the  bar  in  gorgeous 
array. 

"How  are  you,  Colonel?"  said  Dennie. 

"It's  McCafferty!"  cried  the  Colonel,  "an'  as 
hearty  as  ever.  As  smilin',  too,  an'  ready,  I'm 
hopin',  ter  take  a  han'  in  the  fight  fer  his  ould 
frind." 

"  I  am  that,  Colonel.     How's  it  going?" 

"Shmokin'  hot,  Dennie,  an'  divil  a  wan  o*  me 
knows  whose  end  p'  the  poker  is  hottest," 


COLONEL  BOOZY. 


I78 


TIN-TYPES.  179 

"It's  your  end,  Colonel,  that  generates  the 
heat,  and  Dutchy's  end  that  does  the  burn 
ing." 

"There's  poorer  wit  than  yours,  Dennie,  out 
of  the  insane  asylums.  I'll  shtow  that  away 
in  me  mind  an'  fire  it  off  in  the  Boord  the  nexht 
time  I  make  a  speech.  If  I  had  your  brains, 
lad,  I'd  a  made  more  out  av  'em  than  you 
have." 

"You've  done  well  enough  with  your  own," 
said  Dennie.  "They  tell  me  it's  been  a  good 
year  for  business  in  the  Board,  Colonel." 

"Not  over-good,  Dennie.  The  office  aint 
what  it  was  once.  It  useter  be  that  ye  cud 
make  a  nate  pile  in  wan  terrum,  but  now  wid 
the  assessmints  an'  the  price  of  gettin'  there, 
yer  lucky  if  ye  come  out  aven." 

"The  trouble  is  that  you  fool  away  your 
money,  Colonel.  You  ought  not  to  hand  over 
to  every  bummer  that  comes  along.  You 
should  be  discreet.  There's  a  big  floating  vote 
in  this  district,  and  you  can  float  still  more 
into  it  if  you  go  about  it  the  right  way." 

The  Colonel  looked  curiously  into  Dennie's 
ingenuous  blue  eyes,  and  said  with  an  indifferent 
air,  "Ye  mought  be  right,  and  then  agin  ye 
moughtn't." 

"Oh,  certainly,  we  don't  know  as  much  before 
election  as  we  do  after." 


180  TIN-TYPES. 

"Is  yer  mind*  workin',  Dennie?  Air  ye  fig- 
gerin'  at  somethin'?" 

"Oh,  no;  I  happened  to  meet  The  Croak  this 
morning — you  know  The  Croak,  he's  in  the 
green-goods  line?" 

"Do  I  know  him?  Me  name's  kep'  on  his 
bail-bond  as  reg'lar  as  on  the  parish  book." 

"Yes,  of  course ;  well,  I  met  him,  as  I  was 
saying,  and,  to  make  a  long  story  short,  I  found 
that  Bockerheisen  had  got  hold  of  him,  and 
they've  packed  a  lot  of  tenement-houses  with 
Poles  and  Italians  and  organized  an  association. 
There  are  about  600  of  them.  Dutchy  keeps 
them  in  beer,  and  that's  about  all  they  want, 
you  know." 

Colonel  Boozy  had  been  about  to  drink  a 
glass  of  beer  as  Dennie  began  this  communica 
tion.  He  had  raised  the  glass  to  his  lips,  but  it 
got  no  further.  His  eyes  began  to  bulge  and  his 
nose  to  widen,  his  forehead  to  contract  and  his 
jaws  to  close,  and  when  Dennie  stopped  and 
drained  off  his  amber  glass,  the  Alderman  was 
standing  stiff  with  stupefied  rage.  He  recovered 
speech  and  motion  shortly,  however,  and  both 
came  surging  upon  him  in  a  flood.  He  fetched 
his  heavy  beer-glass  down  upon  the  bar  with  a 
furious  blow,  and  a  volley  of  oaths  such  as 
only  a  New  York  Alderman  can  utter  shot  forth 
like  slugs  from  a  Catling  gun.  When  this 


TIN-TYPES.  l8l 

cyclone  of  rage  had  passed  away  he  was  left 
pensive. 

Dennie,  who  had  remained  cool  and  sympa 
thetic  during  the  exhibition,  now  observed : 
"It  is  as  you  say,  Colonel,  very  wicked  in 
Dutchy  thus  to  seek  to  win  by  fraud  what  he 
never  could  get  on  his  merits.  It  is  also  most 
ungrateful  in  The  Croak.  Well,  I've  told  you 
what  the  facts  are.  You'll  know  how  to  man 
age  them.  So-long,"  and  Dennie  started  for 
the  street. 

But  the  Colonel  detained  him.  "Don't  be 
goin'  yet,  Dennie,"  he  said.  "I  want  ter  talk 
this  bizness  over  wid  ye.  Come  intil  the  back 
room,  Dennie." 

They  adjourned  into  a  little  private  room  at 
the  rear  of  the  bar,  and  the  Alderman  drew 
from  a  closet  a  bottle  of  wine,  a  couple  of 
glasses,  and  a  box  of  cigars. 

"Dennie,"  he  said  nervously,  "we  must  bate 
'em.  That  Dootch  pookah  aint  the  fool  he 
looks.  Things  is  feelin'  shaky,  an'  you  mus'  un 
do  yer  wits  fer  me  an'  set  'em  a-warkin'.  If  the 
Dootchy  kin  hev  a  'sosheashin,  I  kin,  too.  If 
he  kin  run  in  Poles  an'  Eyetalyans,  I  kin  run  in 
niggers  an'  Jerseymen." 

Dennie  contemplated  a  knot-hole  in  the  floor 
for  several  minutes.  "No,  Colonel,"  he  said, 
at  last,  "that  wont  do.  There's  a  limit  to  the 


1 82  TIN-TYPES. 

number  of  repeaters  that  can  be  brought  into 
the  district.  If  we  fetch  too  many,  there'll  be 
trouble.  Dutchy  has  put  up  a  job  with  the 
police,  too,  I'm  told;  they're  all  training  with 
Tammany  now.  Besides,  if  you  get  up  your 
gang  of  six  or  seven  hundred,  you  don't  make 
anything;  you  only  offset  his  gang.  You  must 
buy  The  Croak;  that'll  be  cheaper  and  more 
effective.  Then  you'll  get  your  association  and 
Dutchy  will  get  nothing.  You  will  be  making 
him  pay  for  your  votes." 

Boozy  grasped  Dennie's  hand  admiringly. 
"It's  a  great  head  ye  have,  Dennie,  wid  a 
power  o'  brains  in  it  an'  a  talent  fer  shpakin' 
'em  out.  I'll  1'ave  the  fixin'  av  it  in  your  hands. 
Ye'll  see  The  Croak,  Dennie,  an'  get  his  figgers, 
an'  harkee,  Dennie,  if  ye  air  thrue  to  me,  Den 
nie,  ye'll  be  makin'  a  fri'nd,  d'ye  moind !" 

While  Dennie  was  thus  engaged  with  Boozy, 
The  Croak  was  occupied  in  effecting  a  similar 
arrangement  with  Mr.  Bockerheisen.  In  a  few 
gloomy  but  well-chosen  words,  for  The  Croak, 
though  a  mournful,  was  yet  a  vigorous,  talker, 
he  explained  to  Bockerheisen  that  a  wicked 
conspiracy  had  been  entered  into  by  Boozy  and 
McCafferty  to  bring  about  his  defeat  by  fraud, 
and  he  urged  that  Mr.  Bockerheisen  "get  on 
to  'em"  without  delay. 

"Dot  I  vill!"  said  the  German  savagely.     "I 


MR.   BOCKERHEISEN. 


183 


184  TIN-TYPES. 

giv  you  two  huntered  tolars  for  der  names  of 
der  men  vat  dot  Poozy  mitout  der  law  regis 
ters  !" 

"I  aint  no  copper!"  cried  The  Croak, 
angrily.  "Wot  you  wants  ter  do  is  ter  get 
elected,  doncher?" 

"Veil,  how  vas  I  get  elected  mit  wotes  vat 
vas  for  der  udder  mans  cast,  hey?" 

"You  can't,"  said  The  Croak,  "dey  aint  no 
doubt  'bout  dat." 

"If  dey  vas  cast  for  him,  dey  don't  gount  for 
me,  hey?" 

"No." 

"Den  I  vill  yust  der  bolice  got  und  raise  der 
debbil  mit  dot  Poozy." 

"Hoi' on!"  the  Croak  replied.  'If  dey  was 
ter  make  a  mistake  about  de  ballots,  an' 
s'posen  'stead  of  deir  bein'  hisn  dey  happens 
to  be  yourn,  den  if  dey're  cast  fer  you  dey 
wont  count  fer  him,  will  dey?" 

Mr.  Bockerheisen  turned  his  head  around 
and  stared  at  The  Croak  in  an  evidently  pain 
ful  effort  to  grasp  the  idea. 

"If  Boozy  t'inks  dey're  his  wotes — " 

"Yah,"  said  Bockerheisen  reflectively. 

"And  pays  all  de  heavy  'spences  of  uni 
forms  an'  beer — " 

"Yah,"  said  Bockerheisen,  with  an  affable 
smile. 


TIN-TYPES.  185 

"But  w'en  dey  comes  to  wote — " 
"Yah,"  said  Bockerheisen,  opening  his  eyes. 
"Deir  ballots  don't  hev  his  tickets  in  'em — " 
"Yah !"  said  Bockerheisen  quickly. 
"But  has  yourn  instead — " 
"Yah-ah !"    said    Bockerheisen,    rubbing    his 
hands. 

"Den  an'  in  dat  case  who  does  dey  count  fer?" 

Mr.  Bockerheisen  leaned  his  head  upon  his 

hand,  which  was  supported  by  the  bar  against 

which  they  were  standing,  slowly  closed  one  eye, 

and  murmured,  "Yah-ah-ah." 

"I  t'ought  you'd  see  de  p'int  w'en  I  got  it 
out  right,"  said  The  Croak. 

"How  you  do  somedings  like  dot?" 
"Dat  aint  fer  me  to  say,"  The  Croak  diffi 
dently  remarked.  "But  dey  do  tell  me  dat 
dat  McCafferty  has  a  grudge  agin  Boozy,  an 
if  you  wants  me  ter  ask  him  ter  drop  in  yere 
an  hev  a  talk  wid  ye,  I'll  do  it." 

Mr.  Bockerheisen  did  not  fail  to  express  the 
satisfaction  he  would  have  in  seeing  Mr.  Mc 
Cafferty,  and  Mr.  McCafferty  did  not  fail 
to  give  him  that  happiness.  The  associa 
tion  sprang  quickly  into  being,  and  its  rolls 
soon  showed  a  membership  of  nearly  700 
voters.  Two  copies  of  the  rolls  were  taken, 
one  for  submission  to  Alderman  Boozy  and  one 
to  Mr.  Bockerheisen.  This  was  in  the  nature 


1 86  TIN-TYPES. 

of  tangible  evidence  that  the  association  was  in 
actual  existence.  In  further  proof  of  this  im 
portant  fact,  the  association  with  banners  repre 
senting  it  to  be  the  Michael  J.  Boozy  Cam 
paign  Club  marched  past  the  saloon  of  Mr. 
Bockerheisen  every  other  night,  and  the  next 
night,  avoiding  Mr.  Bockerheisen's,  it  was  led 
in  gorgeous  array  past  the  saloon  of  Colonel 
Boozy,  labeled  the  Karl  Augustus  Bocker 
heisen  Club.  As  Mr.  Bockerheisen  looked  out 
and  saw  Colonel  Boozy's  association,  and 
realized  that  w^hereas  Boozy  was  planting  and 
McCafferty  was  watering,  yet  he  was  to  gather 
the  increase,  a  High  German  smile  would  come 
upon  his  poetic  countenance,  and  he  would  bite 
his  finger-nails  rapturously.  And,  on  the  other 
hand,  as  Colonel  Boozy  heard  the  drums  and 
fifes  of  the  Bockerheisen  Club,  and  saw  its  tran 
sparency  glowing  in  the  street,  he  would  sum 
mon  all  his  friends  to  the  bar  to  take  a  drink 
with  him.  It  is  said  that  even  before  election 
day,  however,  the  relations  between  Dennie 
and  the  Colonel  on  the  one  hand,  and  between 
The  Croak  and  Bockerheisen,  on  the  other,  be 
came  painfully  strained.  It  is  said  that  Boozy 
was  compelled  to  mortgage  two  of  his  houses  to 
support  Bockerheisen's  club,  and  that  Bocker 
heisen's  wife  had  to  borrow  nearly  $10,000  from 
her  brother,  a  rich  brewer,  before  Bockerheis- 


TIN-TYPES.  187 

en's  wild  anxiety  to  pay  the  expenses  of  Boozy 's 
club  was  satisfied.  Dennie  acknowledged  to 
the  Colonel  a  couple  of  days  before  the  election 
that  he  had  found  The  Croak  a  hard  man  to 
deal  with,  and  that  it  had  been  vastly  more  ex 
pensive  to  make  the  arrangement  than  he  had 
supposed  it  would  be.  The  Croak's  manner,  as 
I  have  said,  was  always  subdued,  if  not  actually 
sad,  and  in  the  presence  of  Bockerheisen,  as 
the  election  drew  near,  he  seemed  to  be  so 
utterly  woe-begone  and  discouraged  that  the 
German  told  his  wife  he  hadn't  the  heart  to 
quarrel  with  him  about  having  let  McCafferty 
cost  so  much  money.  Besides,  as  the  Colonel 
remarked  to  Mrs.  Boozy  on  the  night  before 
election,  when  she  told  him  he  had  let  that 
bad  man,  McCafferty,  ruin  him  entirely,  and  as 
Bockerheisen  said  to  Mrs.  Bockerheisen  when 
she  warned  him  that  that  ugly-looking  Croak 
would  be  calling  for  her  watch  and  wedding- 
ring  next — as  they  both  remarked,  "What  is 
the  difference  if  I  get  the  votes  of  the  asso 
ciation?  Business  will  be  good  in  the  Board 
of  Aldermen  next  year,  and  I  can  make  it  up." 
Who  did  get  the  votes  of  the  association 
I'm  sure  I  can't  say.  All  I  know  is  that  the 
Republican  candidate  was  elected,  and  a  Central 
Office  detective  who  haunts  the  Forty-second 
Street  depot  reported  at  Headquarters  on  Elec- 


1 88  TIN-TYPES. 

tion  Day  night  that  he  had  seen  Dennie  McCaf- 
ferty,  wearing  evening  dress  and  a  single  glass 
in  his  left  eye,  and  Tozie  Monks,  The  Croak, 
dressed  as  Dennie's  valet,  board  the  six  o'clock 
train  for  Chicago  and  the  West. 


X. 

MR.  MADDLEDOCK. 

MR.  MADDLEDOCK  did  not  like  to  wait, 
and,  least  of  all,  for  dinner.  Wobbles 
knew  that,  and  when  he  heard  the  soft  gong  of 
the  clock  in  the  lower  hall  beat  seven  times, 
and  reflected  that  while  four  guests  had  been 
bidden  to  dinner  only  three  had  yet  come, 
Wobbles  was  agitated.  Mrs.  Throcton,  Mr. 
Maddledock's  sister,  and  Miss  Annie  Throcton 
had  arrived  and  were  just  coming  downstairs 
from  the  dressing-room.  Mr.  Linden  was  in 
the  parlor  with  Miss  Maddledock,  both  looking 
as  if  all  they  asked  was  to  be  let  alone.  Mr. 
Maddledock  was  in  the  library  walking  up  and 
down  in  a  way  that  Wobbles  could  but  look 
upon  as  ominous.  Again,  and  for  the  fifth 
time  in  two  minutes,  Wobbles  made  a  careful 
calculation  upon 'his  fingers,  but  to  save  his 
unhappy  soul  he  could  not  bring  five  persons 
to  tally  with  six  chairs.  And  in  the  mean 
while,  Mr.  Maddledock's  step  in  the  library 
grew  sharper  in  its  sound  and  quicker  in  its 
motion. 

189 


19°  TIN-TYPES. 

There  was  nothing  vulgar  about  Mr.  Mad- 
dledock.  His  tall,  erect  figure,  his  gray  eyes, 
his  clearly  cut,  correct  features,  his  low  voice, 
his  utter  want  of  passion,  and  his  quiet,  reso 
lute  habit  of  bending  everything  and  every 
body  as  it  suited  him  to  bend  them,  told  upon 
people  differently.  Some  said  he  was  hand 
some  and  courtly,  others  insisted  that  he  was 
sinister-looking  and  cruel.  Which  were  right  I 
shall  not  undertake  to  say.  Whether  it  was  a 
lion  or  a  snake  in  him  that  fascinated,  it  is  cer 
tainly  true  that  he  impressed  every  one  who 
knew  him.  In  some  respects  his  influence  was 
very  singular.  He  seemed  to  throw  out  a 
strange  devitalizing  force  that  acted  as  well 
upon  inanimate  as  upon  animate  things.  The 
new  buffet  had  not  been  in  the  dining-room  six 
months  before  it  looked  as  ancient  as  the  Louis 
XIV.  pier-glass  in  the  upper  hall.  This  subtle 
influence  of  Mr.  Maddledock  had  wrought  a 
curious  effect  upon  the  whole  house.  It  oxy- 
dized  the  frescoes  on  the  walls.  It  subdued 
the  varied  shades  of  color  that  streamed  in 
from  the  stained-glass  windows.  It  gave  a 
deeper  richness  to  the  velvet  carpets  and 
mellowed  the  lace  curtains  that  hung  from  the 
parlor  casements  into  a  creamy  tint. 

Mr.  Maddledock's  figure  was  faultless.  From 
head  to  heels  he  was  adjusted  with  mathematical 


IN  THE   MORGUE,"  SAID  MR.  MADDLEDOCK,   "  WELL,  THAT'S 
THE   BEST   PLACE   FOR   HIM." 


igl 


192  TIN-TYPES. 

nicety.  Every  organ  in  his  shapely  body  did 
its  work  silently,  easily,  accurately.  Silver- 
gray  hair  covered  his  head,  falling  gracefully 
away  from  a  parting  in  the  middle  of  it.  It 
never  seemed  to  grow  long,  and  yet  it  never 
looked  as  if  it  had  been  cut.  Mr.  Maddle- 
dock's  eyes  were  his  most  striking  feature. 
Absolutely  unaffected  by  either  glare  or  shad 
ow,  neither  dilating  nor  contracting,  they 
remained  ever  clear,  large,  gray,  and  cold. 
No  mark  or  line  in  his  face  indicated  care  or 
any  of  the  burdens  that  usually  depress  and 
trouble  men.  If  such  things  were  felt  in  his 
experience  their  force  was  spent  long  before 
they  had  contrived  to  mar  his  unruffled  coun 
tenance.  Though  the  house  had  tumbled 
before  his  eyes,  by  not  a  single  vibration  would 
his  complacent  voice  have  been  intensified. 
He  never  suffered  his  feelings  to  escape  his  con 
trol.  Occasionally,  to  be  sure,  he  might  curl 
his  lip,  or  lift  his  eyebrows,  or  depress  the 
corners  of  his  mouth.  When  deeply  moved  he 
might  go  so  far  as  to  diffuse  a  nipping  frost 
around  him,  but  no  angry  words  ever  fell  from 
his  lips. 

Five,  seven,  ten,  fifteen,  twenty  minutes  had 
passed  since  the  hall  clock  had  sounded  the 
hour  and  Wobbles's  temperature  had  risen  to 
the  degree  which  borders  on  apoplexy.  What 


TIN-TYPES.  193 

might  have  have  happened  is  dreadful  to  con 
jecture  had  not  Dinks,  the  housekeeper,  come 
to  his  relief  with  the  sagacious  counsel  that  he 
wait  no  longer,  but  boldly  inform  Miss  Emily 
that  dinner  was  served.  Wobbles  was  just  on 
the  point  of  acting  upon  this  advice  when 
the  library  call  rang,  and  he  hurried  to 
respond. 

"You  said  this  note  was  left  here  by  a  tall 
man,  didn't  you,  Wobbles?"  said  Mr.  Maddle- 
dock. 

"Yezzur,"  said  Wobbles. 

"And  he  said  he  would  call  for  an  answer?" 

"Yezzur,  at  seven  be  the  clock,  zur." 

"But  it's  past  seven,  Wobbles?" 

"Yezzur,  most  'arf  an  howr,  most  'arf." 

"That  will  do,  Wobbles — and  yet,  stay. 
Did  you  ask  his  name?" 

"Yezzur.  Hi  did,  zur,  and  'e  says,  sezee, 
'Chops,'  sezee,  'you  need  more  salt,'  sezee,  'go 
back  to  the  gridiron,'  sezee." 

"Well,  that's  curious,"  said  Mr.  Maddledock; 
"was  he  sober?" 

'"E  'med  be  in  cups,  zur,  but  they  be  quiet 
uns." 

"Yes — well,  if  he  calls  during  dinner,  Wob 
bles,  you  may  show  him  into  the  office  and 
stay  with  him,  Wobbles,  until  I  come." 

"Yezzur,  hexackly,  zur,  I  see,  zur.     Dinner  is 


CHOPS,'   SEZEE,    'YOU   NEEDS   MORE   SALT  !  "   SEZEE.        'GO 
BACK   TO   THE   GRIDIRON,'   SEZEE.'" 


TIN-TYPES.  195 

served,  zur,    but  Mr.    Torbert   be  not    come. 
Shall  I  tell  Miss  Emily?" 

"Yes,  to  be  sure.  How  absurd  of  Torbert! 
Why,  it's  quite  late.  When  I  go  into  the  par 
lor,  which  will  be  in  another  minute,  Wobbles 
you  may  announce  dinner." 

Wobbles  bowed  himself  away  and  Mr.  Mad- 
dledock  sat  himself  down.  He  picked  up,  the 
note  to  which  he  had  just  referred,  and  read  it 
through  carefully.  Then  he  rubbed  his  eye 
glass,  stroked  his  nose  reflectively,  crumpled 
the  note  in  his  hand,  and  tossed  it  into  the 
grate  fire  before  him.  He  rose  and  stood 
watching  it  burn.  "Only  two  things  are  pos 
sible,"  he  said,  quietly.  "I  must  shoot  him  or 
pay  him,  and  I  don't  feel  entirely  certain  which 
I'd  better  do."  Then  he  walked  into  the 
parlor. 

"You're  almost  as  bad  as  Mr.  Torbert, 
father,"  said  Miss  Maddledock.  "I've  been 
waiting  long  enough  for  you,  and  now  we'll  all 
go  to  dinner." 

"Torbert 's  late,  is  he?"  said  Mr.  Maddle 
dock,  as  if  this  were  the  first  he  had  heard  of  it, 
bowing  gravely  to  the  others.  "How's  that, 
Linden?" 

"I'm  sure  I  can't  account  for  it  at  all,  sir," 
answered  the  young  man.  "We  took  break 
fast  together,  and  at  that  hour  he  was  in  full 


I96  TIN-TYPES. 

possession  of  his  faculties.  His  watch  was 
doing  its  accustomed  duty,  and  there  was  no 
sign  of  any  such  condition  in  or  about  him  as 
would  suggest  the  possibility  of  preposterous 
behavior  like  this." 

"Perhaps  his  business  keeps  him,"  said  Miss 
Maddledock  amiably. 

"Ho,  ho,"  chuckled  Mrs.  Throcton,  in  her 
jolly  way,  "if  he  depended  on  that  to  keep 
him,  he'd  be  ill  kept,  indeed." 

"Why,  mamma,"  said  Miss  Throcton,  reprov 
ingly,  "how  can  you?" 

"And  why  not,  Nancy,  my  child?  Bless  me  ! 
how  perfectly  absurd  to  think  of  Torbert,  all 
jewels  and  bangs,  with  a  business.  I'll  leave 
it  to  Mr.  Linden  if  he  ever  earned  a  penny  in 
his  life." 

"But  that  is  not  the  test  of  having  a  business, 
dear  Mrs.  Throcton,"  Linden  replied.  "I  know 
some  wonderfully  busy  men,  whose  earnings 
wouldn't  keep  a  pug  dog." 

"Now  more  than  likely  something's  the  mat 
ter  with  his  clothes,"  remarked  plump  Miss 
Nancy,  in  tones  of  deep  sympathy.  "I've 
often  been  late  because  I  couldn't  get  into 
mine." 

"While  we  speculate  the  dinner  cools,"  said 
Miss  Maddledock  suggestively.  "Father,  will 
you  give  your  arm  to  Mrs.  Throcton?  Mr, 


TIN-TYPES.  197 

Linden,  there  stands  Miss  Nancy.  I  will  go 
alone  and  mourn  for  Mr.  Torbert." 

"Now,  this  is  really  too  bad,"  said  Linden, 
when  they  were  seated  at  the  table.  "It  is  a 
form  of  social  misconduct  which  goes  right  at 
the  bottom  of  Torbert's  character.  When  he 
comes  I'll  tell  him  the  story  of  a  friend  of  mine 
who  never  was  late  for  dinner  in  his  life,  and 
who  consequently — 

"Died!"  interrupted  Mrs.  Throcton.  "I  know 
he  did.  Any  man  who  never  was  late  for  din 
ner  in  his  life  must  in  the  nature  of  things 
have  had  a  short  time  to  live." 

"Come  to  think  of  it,"  said  Linden,  "he  did 
die,  and  I  never  suspected  why  before.  He 
was  the  last  man  in  the  world  whom  I  should 
have  thought  the  dread  angel  would  want." 

"Oh,  you  never  can  tell,"  Mrs.  Throcton 
cheerily  declared.  "I'ts  all  luck,  pure  luck. 
This  man  died  because  it  isn't  in  fate  for  any 
man  who  is  never  late  to  dinner  to  live  long, 
but  still  living  is  all  luck.  If  the  'dread  angel,' 
as  you  call  him,  happens  to  look  your  way  and 
fancies  you,  why,  off  you  go — plunk!  like  a 
frog  in  the  pond." 

Mrs.  Throcton  had  scarcely  concluded  this 
genial  doctrine  before  the  belated  guest,  all 
bows,  smiles,  and  graceful  attitudes,  was  ren 
dering  homage  to  Miss  Maddledock, 


198  TIN-TYPES. 

"Sir!"  she  said,  "you  will  kindly  observe 
that  my  aspect  is  severe.  You  are  indicted 
for — for — what  is  he  indicted  for,  Mr.  Lin 
den?" 

Linden  was  a  lawyer,  and  he  answered 
promptly:  "For  violating  Section  One  of  the 
Code  of  Prandial  Procedure,  which  defines  tar 
diness  at  dinner  as  a  felony  punishable  by  ban 
ishment  from  all  social  festivities  at  the  house 
where  offense  is  given,  for  a  period  of  not  less 
than  two  nor  more  than  five  years." 

"You  hear  the — the — what  are  you,  Mr. 
Linden — something  horrid,  aren't  you?" 

"He  is,  or  his  looks  belie  him,"  interjaculated 
Torbert. 

"The  prosecutor,  your  Honor,"  replied  Lin 
den,  "prepared,  with  regard  to  this  prisoner,  to 
be  as  horrid  as  I  look." 

"May  it  please  the  Court,"  began  Torbert, 
with  mock  gravity,  "I  find  myself  the  victim 
of  an  unfortunate  situation,  and  not  a  con 
scious  and  willing  offender  against  the  Prandial 
Code.  Justice  is  all  I  ask.  More  I  have  no 
need  for.  Less  I  am  confident  your  Honor 
never  fails  to  render." 

"Now,  Mr.  Prosecutor,  where's  my  judicial 
temperament  gone  that  you  compliment  me 
upon  so  often?"  demanded  Miss  Maddledock, 
turning  sharply  to  the  lawyer.  "I  had  it  a 


TIN-TYPES.  199 

moment  ago,  together  with  a  frown ;  where 
have  they  gone?" 

"They  will  return  directly  I  call  your  Hon 
or's  attention  to  the  flagrant  nature  of  the  pris 
oner's  crime,"  said  Linden — "a  crime  so  utterly 
atrocious — " 

"True,  you  do  well  to  remind  me.  Justice 
you  called  for,  sir.  Very  well.  Justice  you 
shall  have.  Go  on  !" 

"Your  Honor  is  most  gracious.  That  part 
of  the  indictment  which  charges  me  with  hav 
ing  an  engagement  to  dine  with  your  Honor  at 
seven  P.  Ml  is  admitted.  I  left  my  house  in 
plenty  of  time,  but — 

Mrs.  Throcton  (sotto  voce). — Does  the  pris 
oner  live  in  Harlem? 

Miss  Nancy. — Or  in  Hoboken? 

The  Court  (with  great,  dignity) — If  the  pris 
oner  is  going  to  put  his  trust  in  the  saving  grace 
of  the  elevated  cars  or  the  tardy  ferry,  the  Court 
would  prefer  not  to  delay  its  consomme  listen 
ing  to  such  trivial  excuses.  The  Court's  soup 
is  growing  cold. 

A  roar  of  laughter  greeted  this  observation, 
and  Mr.  Linden  remarked,  "The  prosecutor 
feels  it  his  duty  to  suggest  that  the  prisoner 
enter  a  plea  of  guilty,  and  throw  himself  at 
once  upon  the  Court's  mercy." 

"The  distinguished  assistants  to  the  prosecu- 


2oo  TIM-TYPES. 

tor,"  said  Torbert,  turning  with  an  extravagant 
bow  toward  Mrs.  Throcton  and  Miss  Nancy, 
"think  to  throw  contempt  upon  the  defense 
by  associating  it  with  Harlem  and  Hoboken. 
Let  them  beware.  Let  them  not  tempt  me  to 
extremities.  There  are  insults  which  even  my 
forbearing  spirit  will  not  meekly  endure.  Had 
they  said  Hackensack — " 

The  Court — Well,  what  then? 

"Then,  your  Honor,  I  should  have  objected ; 
and  had  your  Honor  ruled  against  me,  I  should 
have  been  reluctantly  compelled  to  demand  an 
exception !  But  let  me  come  at  once  to  my 
defense.  My  offense,  if  offense  it  is,  was 
caused  by  the  necessity  which  was  imposed 
upon  me  of  unharnessing  a  man." 

"What!" 

"Of  unharnessing  a  man,  please  your  Honor! 
A  man  coming  north  and  a  horse  going  east 
endeavored  to  cross  the  street  at  a  given  point, 
at  one  and  the  same  moment.  It  proved  an 
impossibility,  and  they — er — intersected." 

"Dreadful!"  cried  Miss  Maddledock. 

"It  so  impressed  me,  else  I  had  not  dared  to 
risk  your  Honor's  displeasure  by  pausing  to 
unharness  the  man." 

Mrs.  Throcton,  merry  soul  that  she  usually 
was,  had  grown  quite  serious  when  Torbert 
spoke  of  a  collision  and  an  accident.  Her 


TIN-TYPES.  201 

voice  was  earnest  as  she  said,  "Now,  Mr.  Tor- 
bert,  stop  your  jesting  right  away  and  tell  us 
what  you  mean." 

"It  was  as  I  have  said,  and  all  done  in  a  sec 
ond,"  Torbert  replied.  "You  never  can  tell 
just  how  a  thing  like  that  is  done,  you  know. 
The  horse  was  a  runaway.  It  must  have 
come  some  distance,  for  it  had  broken  away 
from  the  vehicle  to  which  it  had  been  attached, 
and  its  torn  harness  was  held  upon  it  by  only 
one  or  two  feeble  straps.  'The  man  was  a  tall, 
queer-looking  fellow,  rather  seedily  dressed, 
and  possibly  not  quite  sober.  He  had  been 
walking  just  ahead  of  me  for  several  blocks. 
I  can't  say  what  it  was  about  him  that  first 
attracted  my  attention.  Possibly  it  was  a 
peculiarity  in  his  walk." 

Mr.  Maddledock,  who  had  not  spoken  a 
word  since  they  sat  down  to  dinner,  now 
glanced  up,  and  said,  in  an  inquiring  tone,  "A 
peculiarity  in  his  walk?" 

-"Yes,"  answered  Torbert,  dropping  into  his 
seat  and  picking  up  his  oyster  fork,  "and  I  am 
somewhat  at  a  loss  to  describe  it.  I  don't 
think  he  was  lame,  or  wooden-legged,  or 
afflicted  with  any  hip  trouble.  As  I  recall  the 
step  now,  it  seems  to  me  that  it  was  merely  a 
habit.  I  think  he  took  a  long  and  then  a 
short  step,  long  and  short,  long  and  short." 


"HE  WAS  AN  ODD-LOOKING  FELLOW,"  SAID  TORBERT,  "ODD 
AND  BAD." 


202 


TIN-TYPES.  203 

"Urn,"  said  Mr.  Maddledock. 

"Just  as  he  approached  the  crossing  where 
the  accident  occurred  he  turned  his  head,  and 
I  don't  think  I  ever  saw  a  more  Mephistophe 
lean  countenance.  The  only  thing  that  broke 
the  dark-angel  shape  of  his  face  was  his  nose,  and 
that,  with  slight  alterations,  would  have  made 
an  excellent  shepherd's  crook." 

Mr.  Maddledock  took  up  his  wine-glass  and 
drained  it  at  a  single  quaff.  "A  shepherd's 
crook,"  he  repeated ;  "an  odd  nose,  truly."  ' 

"He  was  an  odd-looking  fellow  all  over," 
Torbert  continued,  "odd  and  bad.  I  never 
was  more  disagreeably  impressed  with  a  human 
face  in  my  life.  Well,  when  we  reached  the 
corner  we  both  heard  the  clatter  of  the  horse's 
hoofs  on  the  cobbles  and  looked  up.  He  was 
coming  on  at  a  fearful  rate,  and  people  were 
shouting  at  him  in  a  way  that  must  have 
increased  his  frenzy.  Quite  a  crowd  had  col 
lected,  and  this  fellow  and  I  were  jostled  for 
ward  upon  the  crossing.  I  shouted  to  the 
crowd  not  to  push  us,  and  pressed  back  with 
all  my  strength.  He  was  just  ahead  of  me. 
He  had  two  means  of  escape — to  hold  back  as 
I  had  done,  or  to  dash  forward.  He  hesitated, 
and  that  second's  pause  was  fatal.  The  horse 
plunged  forward,  struck  him  squarely,  knocked 
him  heavily  upon  the  stones,  and  left  him 


THE   HORSE  PLUNGED  FORWARD,  STRUCK  HIM  SQUARELY,  AND 
KNOCKED   HIM   HEAVILY   UPON  THE   STONES. 


204 


TIN-TYPES.  205 

there,  covered  with  the  remnants  of  its  harness, 
which  having  become  caught  in  his  coat,  some 
how  or  another,  were  drawn  off  its  back." 

"Terrible  !"  cried  Miss  Maddledock,  "Was  he 
much  hurt?" 

Mr.  Maddledock  leaned  forward  and  bent 
his  ear  to  catch  the  answer. 

"I  don't  know  how  much,  but  certainly 
enough  to  make  his  recovery  a  matter  of 
doubt." 

Mr.  Maddledock  slightly  frowned.  "A— 
matter — of — doubt?"  he  repeated,  pausing  with 
singular  emphasis  on  each  word. 

"Yes,  of  grave  doubt,"  answered  Torbert, 
"and  dread  too,  for  even  if  he  gets  well  again, 
he  must  be  maimed  for  life,  and  he  was  the  sort 
of  creature  that  ought  not  to  have  a  deformity 
added  to  his  general  ugliness." 

Emily  Maddledock  had  been  leaning  her 
chin  upon  her  hand  with  a  thoughtful  look  in 
her  face  for  several  minutes.  As  Torbert 
paused,  she  said :  "Your  description  of  that 
man  brings  a  face  to  my  mind  that  I  saw  re 
cently  somewhere.  I  can't  seem  to  remember 
about  it  clearly,  though  the  face  is  very  dis 
tinct." 

"  Indeed?"  said  Torbert.  "Now,  that's  curi 
ous.  If  you've  ever  seen  the  beggar  you  ought 
to  remember  it.  There's  one  other  mark  upon 


206  TIN-TYPES. 

him  that  may  serve  to  place  him  still  more 
clearly  before  you.  Directly  over  his  left 
cheek-bone  there  is  a  long  rectangular  mole — 

"Yes!  yes!"  cried  Emily.  "I  remember. 
Why,  father—" 

Mr.  Maddledock  had  been  sipping  his  wine. 
As  Emily  suddenly  looked  up  and  addressed 
him,  he  twirled  the  glass  carelessly  between  his 
thumb  and  ringer,  remarking,  as  if  this  were 
the  only  feature  of  the  story  that  at  all  im 
pressed  him,  "A  mole,  did  you  say?  What  a 
monstrosity!" 

"Um,  well,  is  it?"  Torbert  replied.  "Can't 
say  I'd  thought  of  that." 

"Don't  think  of  it !"  sharply  remarked  Mrs. 
Throcton,  as  if  annoyed  at  the  interruption, 
"but  go  on." 

"Several  of  us  sprang  forward  from  among 
the  crowd  and  set  at  work  trying  to  free  him 
from  the  confining  straps.  How  in  the  world 
they  contrived  to  get  around  him  and  to  tie 
him  up  as  they  did  is  a  mystery.  We  cut 
them  loose,  lifted  him  up,  and  found  him  quite 
unconscious.  Somebody  thoughtfully  rang 
for  an  ambulance.  Before  it  came  we  carried 
him  into  a  drug  store  close  by  and  the  drug 
gist  plied  him  with  restoratives.  I  supposed 
he  was  dead,  but  the  drug  man  said  he  wasn't. 
He  had  shown  no  sign  of  life,  however,  when 


TIN-TYPES.  207 

the  ambulance  arrived.  They  took  him  off,  and 
I,  having  made  myself  somewhat  more  present 
able  than  I  was,  called  a  carriage  and  am  here." 

Then  turning  to  Miss  Maddledock  he  smil 
ingly  continued :  "I  now  move,  please  your 
Honor,  for  the  dismissal  of  the  indictment 
against  me  on  the  ground  that  the  evidence 
does  not  show  any  offense  to  have  been  com 
mitted." 

"I  think  you'll  have  to  grant  the  motion, 
Emily,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Maddledock,  fixing 
his  gray  eyes  upon  his  daughter  in  a  way  that 
always  riveted  hers  upon  him  and  drew  her 
mind  after  them  to  the  complete  exclusion  of 
everything  except  what  he  intended  to  say. 
"Mr.  Torbert's  defense  strikes  me  as  all  we 
could  demand.  You  remarked  a  moment  ago 
that  his  description  suggested  a  face  to  your 
mind,  but  you  couldn't  remember  where  you 
saw  it." 

"I  know  now,"  she  said.  "It  was  this  very 
afternoon — ' 

"Exactly,"  said  her  father,  interrupting 
rather  adroitly  than  quickly.  "It  was  while 
we  were  standing  together  at  the  parlor  win 
dow." 

Emily's  face  flushed,  and  had  any  one  been 
looking  at  her  intently  he  might  have  had  his 
doubts  whether  or  not  that  was  the  time.  She 


208  TIN-TYPES. 

did  not  answer,  however,  and  before  any  one 
had  begun  the  conversation  anew,  Wobbles 
entered  with  a  card  upon  his  tray  which  he 
delivered  to  Mr.  Maddledock. 

"Since  your  Honor  is  so  indulgent,"  said 
Mr.  Maddledock,  as  he  glanced  at  the  scrawl 
upon  the  bit  of  cardboard  and  bowed  to  his 
daughter,  "and  with  the  approval  of  the  prose 
cutor,  I  am  constrained  to  ask  the  Court's  con 
sent  to  a  further  violation  of  the  Prandial 
Code.  I  don't  know  whether  the  punishment 
for  leaving  the  table  before  the  dinner  is  con 
cluded  is  greater  or  less  than  for  a  tardy  ap 
pearance,  but  I  fear  I  must  risk  it." 

"I  suggest,  in  view  of  this  prisoner's  pre 
vious  good  character,"  said  Linden,  "that  your 
Honor  suspend  the  sentence." 

Mr.  Maddledock  bowed  himself  out  and 
walked  directly  to  a  little  room  just  off  the  hall 
which  he  used  as  a  private  office.  A  timid 
young  man  was  waiting  for  him. 

"Well,  sir?"  said  Mr.  Maddledock. 

"I  am  an  orderly,  sir,  if  you  please,  at  the 
Bellevue  Hospital.  A  man  was  brought  there, 
this  evening,  sir,  pretty  well  done  up  by  a  run 
away.  After  he'd  been  fixed  a  bit  he  asked 
me  for  his  coat,  and  when  I  fetched  it  he  took 
out  this  bundle  of  papers  and  put  them  under 
his  pillow.  The  doctors  didn't  bother  him 


TIN-TYPES.  209 

much,  for  they  saw  he  was  a  goner,  and  when 
he  asked  if  he  could  live  they  told  him  no. 
He  didn't  say  no  more,  but  when  we  was  alone 
he  asked  me  to  take  out  the  papers  from  under 
his  pillow.  I  did  it,  and  he  asked  me  if  he  died 
to  fetch  them  here  and  give  them  to  you  in 
your  own  hands,  and  said  you'd  give  me  ten 
dollars  for  my  trouble.  So  as  soon  as  I  was 
off  duty  I  fetched  'em,  and  here  they  are, 
sir." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Maddledock,  adjusting  his 
eye-glasses  and  examining  them  slowly  one  by 
one.  "Yes.  They  appear  to  be  all  here.  Ten 
dollars,  did  he  say?  Well,  here  it  is.  Good 
night." 

"Good-night,  sir." 

"And  the  man?  Wait  a  bit.  What  became 
of  him?" 

"Oh,  he's  dead,  sir.  The  horse  done  him 
up.  He's  dead  and  in  the  Morgue  by  this 
time.  Good-night." 

The  orderly  went  out,  and  Mr.  Maddledock 
stood  quietly  with  the  bundle  of  papers  in  his 
hands  until  he  heard  the  click  of  the  vestibule 
door.  Then  he  struck  a  match  and  fired  them 
one  by  one,  watching  each  until  it  was  entirely 
consumed. 

"In  the  Morgue,"  he  said,  as  the  last  pale 
flame  flickered  and  died  away.  "Well,  that's 


210  TIN-TYPES. 

the  best  place  for  him.  There's  no  doubt  in  my 
mind,  not  the  least,  but  that  that  amiable 
horse  saved  me  from  being  the  central  figure 
in  a  murder  trial.  What  an  odd  world  it  is,  to 
be  sure !" 


XI. 

MR.  WRANGLER. 

ON  your  way  to  the  Cortlandt  Street  Ferry, 
which  is  on  everybody's  way  to  every 
where,  and  on  the  left-hand  side  of  the  street 
when  you  turn  out  of  Broadway,  and  not  very 
far  from  the  ferry-house  itself,  there  is  a  little 
old,  low  brick  building  which  has  stood  there 
a  good  many  years  and  is  going  to  stand  a  good 
many  more  if  Billy  Warlock  knows  himself,  and 
he  thinks  he  does.  You  may  talk  about 
progress  all  you  please,  but  Billy  will  soon  give 
you  to  understand  that  the  only  kind  of  prog 
ress  which  will  take  that  house  from  him,  or 
him  from  it,  is  the  progress  toward  the  stars, 
and  that,  while  he  hopes  to  take  it  in  the 
Lord's  good  time,  he  isn't  ready  for  just  yet. 
Billy  Warlock  owns  that  house  and  lives  in  it 
and  does  business  there,  and  the  great  big  heart 
that  thumps  in  Billy's  great  big  body  and  gives 
strength  to  Billy's  great  big  arm,  loves  every 
individual  square  inch  of  brick  and  earth  and 
planking  and  plaster  in  that  old  house  from 
cellar  to  scuttle.  Part  with  it !  Speculate  on 
it.'  Sacrifice  it  to  progress!  Well,  scarcely. 
211 


212  TIN-TYPES. 

Not  if  you  were  to  offer  him  its  weight  in  solid 
gold.  Not  if  its  neighbor  on  one  side  were  a 
Mills  Building  and  its  neighbor  on  the  other 
an  Equitable.  Not  if  you  were  to  build  an 
elevated  railroad  around  it  and  run  ten  trains 
per  minute,  day  and  night.  So  long  as  Billy 
Warlock  can  keep  himself  above  ground,  so 
long  will  that  old  house  keep  him  company,  and 
so  long  will  his  forges  blow  fiery  sparks  in  the 
cellar,  while  he  hammers  and  hums  and  hums 
and  hammers  on  the  anvil  by  his  side. 

It  was  just  twelve  years  ago  on  Christmas 
Eve  that  Billy  Warlock  bought  the  smithy  in 
the  cellar  of  that  little  old  house.  Billy  had 
been  working  for  the  man  who  owned  it,  and 
the  man  who  owned  it,  being  a  little  short  of 
wind  and  a  trifle  weak  in  his  legs,  had  decided 
to  sell  and  retire.  Billy  had  become  the  pur 
chaser,  and  not  without  many  qualms  and 
doubts  as  to  the  wisdom  of  assuming  such 
heavy  responsibilities.  Billy  knew  he  was  a 
good  mechanic,  and  could  put  a  tire  on  a  wheel 
or  a  shoe  on  a  horse  as  quickly  and  as  well  as 
the  next  man.  But  it  took  a  good  big  pile  of 
dollars,  as  Billy  counted  dollars,  to  get  those 
forges,  and  before  he  turned  them  over  to  his  late 
employer  Billy  scratched  his  head  a  good  many 
times  and  did  a  power  of  thinking.  But  at  last 
he  let  go  the  dollars,  and  laid  his  big  fist  on 


TIN-TYPES.  213 

the  biggest  forge  and  blew  a  blast  through  the 
coals  that  made  them  glow  brighter  than  ever 
they  glowed  before.  For  it  was  the  master 
and  not  the  man  who  sent  the  draught  through 
them. 

He  bade  the  men  good-night  and  wished 
them  a  Merry  Christmas,  closed  the  doors, 
locked  them  tight,  and  looked  his  property 
over.  It  was  worth  being  proud  of,  make  no 
mistake.  It  was  all  any  man  need  wish  for. 
It  was  well  stocked  and  in  prime  condition. 
The  house,  in  the  cellar  of  which  his  smithy 
stood,  was  mainly  let  in  lodgings.  On  the  first 
floor,  raised  just  far  enough  above  the  street  to 
give  his  customers  a  fair  passage  out,  there 
was  a  saloon  and  eating-room.  Back  of  these 
were  Billy's  own  rooms,  two  nice  big  rooms 
where  his  mother  took  care  of  him  and  cooked 
his  meals  and  washed  his  clothes  and  aired  his 
bed  as  only  good  old  mothers  can.  Over  this 
floor  were  two  others,  let,  as  I  have  said,  in 
lodgings — to  whom,  who  knows?  Who  ever 
knows  to  whom  lodgings  are  let  in  this  big, 
crowded  city? 

Billy  finished  his  dinner  and  drew  up  his 
chair  and  one  for  his  mother  by  the  stove,  and 
filled  his  huge  mug  with  beer,  and  his  huge 
pipe  with  tobacco,  and  talked  it  all  over  with 
his  mother.  She  was  a  fine  woman,  was  Billy's 


214  TIN-TYPES. 

mother,  and  she  drew  a  straight,  steady  rein 
over  her  big,  burly,  good-natured  boy.  She 
was  Billy's  best  friend,  and  he  knew  it,  and 
when  she  told  him  she  would  stand  by  and 
help  him,  and  save  for  him  and  look  out  after 
him,  Billy  reached  forth  his  brawny  arm,  and 
drew  her  over  on  his  knee  and  danced  her  up 
and  down,  smoothing  back  her  gray  hair  and 
kissing  her  old  cheeks  as  if  she  were  a  baby. 

Then,  when  the  clock  struck  nine,  she  got 
up  to  wash  the  dishes,  and  Billy  took  his  lan 
tern  to  go  down  among  his  forges  again.  Not 
that  he  had  anything  particular  to  do,  though 
there  never  was  a  time  when  Billy  couldn't 
find  something,  but  the  novelty  of  owning  a 
business  was  strong  with  him,  and  he  wanted  to 
hammer  just  for  the  fun  of  hammering.  He 
descended  into  the  cellar  through  a  side-door 
which  opened  from  the  back  hall  upon  a  short 
ladder.  The  street  doors  were  barred  and 
bolted.  He  set  his  lantern  on  the  ladder  steps 
and  lit  an  oil  lamp  that  hung  over  his  anvil, 
picked  up  his  iron  and  his  hammer,  thrust  the 
one  into  the  coals  and  laid  the  other  on  his. 
anvil,  and  blew  away.  Oh,  what  an  arm  that 
was  of  Billy's !  How  it  made  the  bellows  bulge 
and  the  wind  roar  up  the  great  chimney ! 
How  the  black  coals  reddened  and  flamed  and 
blazed !  How  the  iron  glowed  and  whitened 


OH,  WHAT  AN  ARM   WAS   THAT   OF   BILLY'S ! 


215 


216  TIN-TYPES. 

with  the  heat,  and  when  Billy  drew  his  great 
hammer  down  upon  it  with  a  hoarse  grunt 
accompanying  each  blow  as  if  to  give  it  effect 
iveness,  how  the  sparks  scampered  about  in  a 
furious  effort  to  escape ! 

Billy  was  hammering  and  grunting  at  a 
great  rate,  and  the  forge  fire  was  throwing 
upon  the  ceiling  fantastic  illuminations  and 
causing  a  thousand  still  more  fantastic  shad 
ows,  when,  wholly  without  preliminary  warning 
or  greeting,  Billy  felt  a  slight  touch  on  his  arm. 
It  was  a  slight  touch,  as  I  said,  but  a  cold  one, 
a  very  cold  one  indeed.  Billy  turned  swiftly 
around  with  his  hammer  in  one  hand  and  his 
red-hot  iron  in  the  other.  Standing  almost 
beside  him,  with  the  glare  of  the  fire  working  a 
curiously  weird  effect  upon  one-half  of  him, 
while  the  other  half  was  almost  hidden  in  the 
dense  shadow  beyond,  was  a  tall,  spare,  angular 
man  with  queer  little  snappy  eyes  that  flashed 
like  diamonds  in  the  light  of  the  forge.  His 
hand  was  stretched  out  in  a  friendly  way,  and 
a  bland  smile  stretched  across  his  face,  follow 
ing  the  lines  of  his  wide,  extended  lips. 

"Aha!"  he  said  cheerily,  "how  d'ye  do? 
But  I  forgot !  You  don't  know  me  and  I  don't 
know  you.  Awkward,  eh?  But  soon  fixed, 
soon  fixed.  My  name's  Wrangler,  and  yours 
is — er — what  by  the  way,  is  yours?" 


TIN-TYPES.  21? 

"Warlock,"  said  Billy,  laying  down  his  iron 
and  his  hammer,  and  gazing  amiably  at  the 
stranger — "Billy  Warlock." 

"Warlock,"  Mr.  Wrangler  repeated.  "Ex 
actly.  Well,  then,  Warlock,  Wrangler.  Wrang 
ler,  Warlock.  And  now  the  formalities  have 
been  observed.  I  don't  know  how  it  is  with 
you,  Warlock,  but  I'm  a  great  stickler  for  the 
formalities.  Ton  my  life,  I  consider  them 
the  web  upon  which  the  social  fabric  hangs 
together.  They're  not  to  be  dispensed  with 
upon  any  account  whatever.  While  I  was 
abroad  recently,  the  American  Minister  and  I 
were  walking  along  the  Mall  together.  4Ah,' 
he  suddenly  said,  'My  dear  Wrangler,  here 
comes  the  Prince.  Of  course  you  know  him.' 
Now,  it  so  happened  that  H.  R.  H.  and  I  had 
never  met.  I  didn't  have  time  to  reply,  for 
just  as  I  was  about  to  speak  the  Prince 
stopped  us,  and,  after  greeting  the  Minister, 
utterly  regardless  of  the  formalities,  he  told  me 
that  he  hoped  he  saw  me  well.  I  gave  him  a 
look,  Warlock,  my  boy,  that  he  will  never  for 
get,  and  coldly  replying,  'Sir,  I  have  not  the 
pleasure  of  your  acquaintance,'  I  walked  on. 
That  afternoon  the  Minister  sent  me  an  apol 
ogy,  but  for  which  damme  if  I'd  ever  have 
spoken  to  him  again." 

During  this  speech,  to  which  Billy  listened 


AHA  !  "  HE   SAID  CHEERILY,  "  HOW   D'YE   DO  ?  ' 


218 


TIN-TYPES.  219 

with  great  attention  and  some  little  awe, 
he  examined  Mr.  Wrangler  carefully.  Mr. 
Wrangler's  clothes  were  harmoniously  seedy. 
In  the  degree  of  their  wornness  his  hat  was  a 
match  for  his  coat,  and  his  coat  a  match  for  his 
trowsers,  and  his  trowsersa  match  for  his  boots. 
Although  the  weather  was  desperately  cold, 
and  a  heavy  Christmas  snow  had  fallen,  he  had 
on  neither  overcoat  nor  overshoes.  He  did 
not  appear  to  notice  Billy's  inspecting  glances, 
but  having  caught  his  breath,  he  went  cheer 
ily  on. 

"I  am  glad  and  proud  to  know  you,  War 
lock,  old  fellow,  and  I  want  you  to  be  glad  and 
proud  to  know  me.  And  you  shall  be ;  you 
shall  be ;  'gad  you  sha'n't  be  able  to  help  it. 
And  you'll  find  as  you  know  me  better  that 
while  you  won't  know  any  great  good  of  me, 
you  won't  know  any  great  harm." 

Billy  contemplated  Mr.  Wrangler  for  a  few 
moments  more,  and  then  amiably  replied : 
"Well,  that's  all  right.  What  more  could  a 
man  ask?" 

"Precisely  so,"  answered  Mr.  Wrangler,  dust 
ing  off  the  anvil  and  sitting  down  upon  it. 
"That,  I  take  it,  is  quite  enough.  I  have  not 
broken  in  upon  your  privacy,  Warlock,  old 
fellow,  without  serious  occasion.  In  fact,  I'm 
troubled — sorely  troubled." 


220  TIN- TYPES. 

"I'm  sorry  for  that,"  said  Billy. 

"Of  course  you  are,  dear  boy,  and  well  you 
maybe.  The  trouble  I'm  in  is  a  sad  one — sad  and 
novel.  Not  that  trouble  in  itself  is  a  strange 
experience  to  me,  for  I've  had  my  ups  and 
downs.  My  life  hasn't  been  one  of  unmixed 
gayety,  I  assure  you,  not  by  a  long  shot.  But, 
you  see,  I  have  a  habit  of  bowing  to  the  inscru 
table  will  of  Providence.  Some  people  expe 
rience  a  great  deal  of  difficulty  finding  out 
what  the  inscrutable  will  of  Providence  is. 
That  doesn't  bother  me  in  the  least.  Having 
ascertained  what  my  own  will  is,  I  know  the 
chances  are  ten  to  one  that  the  Providential 
will  is  exactly  the  reverse.  That  is  simple  and 
direct  enough,  isn't  it?" 

Billy  was  very  much  interested  in  this  glib 
but  melancholy  stranger,  and  he  resolved,  if  it 
came  in  his  way,  that  he  would  do  the  man  a 
favor.  So  he  turned  his  hammer  with  the  han 
dle  to  the  ground,  sat  himself  upon  the  head 
of  it,  and  remarked :  "It's  right  enough,  Mr. 
Wrangler,  to  make  the  Lord's  will  yours.  I  try 
to  do  my  best  in  that  line  too.  But  still,  there 
is  a  point,  you  know,  where  it  comes  hard." 

"True,  dear  boy,  very  true ;  and  how  much 
harder  it  is  to  find  yourself  in  a  situation  which 
you  did  nothing  to  bring  about,  for  which  you 
are  in  no  sense  responsible,  which  is  wholly  in 


TIN-TYPES.  221 

conflict  with  your  own  will,  and  to  the  best  of 
your  belief  with  the  will  of  Providence  also ! 
This  is  my  unparalleled  situation  at  this  partic 
ular  moment,  and  it  all  comes  of  being  the 
uncle  of  a  little  girl  baby." 

"No?"  said  Billy  inquiringly,  "you  don't 
mean  it?" 

"I  knew  you'd  be  surprised,"  said  Mr. 
Wrangler,  edging  up  to  the  forge,  which  Billy 
had  kept  going  at  a  gentle  heat  to  warm  their 
hands  now  and  then.  "It  ought  to  be  an  occa 
sion  of  unalloyed  happiness  to  be  the  uncle  of  a 
little  girl  baby.  But  I  was  not  intended  for 
such  a  position.  It  was  clearly  a  mistake  to 
thrust  me  into  it." 

"I  don't  scarcely  see  how  you  could  help  it," 
said  Billy. 

"No,  I  couldn't,  could  I?  It  came  upon  me 
suddenly  and  without  my  knowing  it.  I  had 
no  time  for  preparation.  My  brother,  who  was 
one  of  the  evils  to  which,  under  the  will  of 
Providence,  I  have  bowed,  called  me  to  him 
recently,  and  without  so  much  as  a  drop  of 
brandy  to  break  the  force  of  the  blow,  he 
said :  'Cephas,'  said  he,  'you  are  the  uncle  of 
a  little  girl  baby !' 

"Pale  and  for  a  moment  speechless,  I  leaned 
against  the  wall  and  shook  with  emotion. 
'Courage,  old  man !'  said  he,  'bear  up !  bear  up !' 


222  TIN-TYPES. 

At  first  I  refused  to  believe  him.  'It  is  false, 
Orlando/  I  said,  'it  can't  be  so.'  But  he  shook 
his  head  sadly.  'It  is  true,  Cephas,'  he  replied, 
'and  I  guess  I  ought  to  know.'  That  argu 
ment  was  of  course  conclusive.  It  admitted  of 
no  reply.  I  only  asked  him  how  could  he  so 
have  wronged  me.  He  said  nothing  in  de 
fense  of  himself.  He  could  say  nothing.  He 
simply  bent  his  head  and  cried  for  pardon." 

"Well,  well,"  said  Billy,  "this  is  queer.  It 
seems  to  me  like  a  big  to-do  over  a  very  little 
matter." 

Mr.  Wrangler  looked  up  with  an  expres 
sion  of  dismay.  "Little!"  he  cried.  "Little! 
May  I  ask,  Mr.  Warlock,  if  you  have  ever  been 
the  uncle  of  a  little  girl  baby?" 

"No,"  said  Billy,  "I  never  was." 

"Ah,  well,  that  explains  it.  Then  you  can't 
know  the  bitterness  of  that  hour.  You  can't 
put  yourself  in  my  place.  I  forgave  him.  I 
told  him  with  a  sob  that  it  was  all  right. 
Then,  in  the  name  of  our  mother,  he  implored 
me  to  do  him  a  favor.  The  infant  was  in  Cali 
fornia.  He  had  left  it  there  to — er — learn  the 
language,  I  reckon.  He  bade  me  go  and  fetch 
it.  At  first  I  hesitated — all  but  refused.  But 
who  can  withstand  an  appeal  made  in  the 
name  of  his  mother?  I  pressed  his  hand  in 
silent  acquiescence  and  took  the  next  train 


TIN-TYPES.  223 

West.  I  found  the  child  and  folded  it  to  my 
heart.  I  bought  it  a  milk  bottle  with  a  fancy 
nozzle,  a  bull's  eye,  and  a  rattle.  It  wept,  and 
I  dried  its  tears.  Then  I  brought  it  back  with 
me.  Fancy  my  feelings,  Warlock ;  picture  to 
yourself  my  lacerated,  bleeding  heart,  when 
upon  reaching  town  this  afternoon  I  learned 
that  my  brother  was  dead !  Yes,  Warlock,  old 
man,  dead  and  buried  and  cold  in  his  grave, 
and  another  party  living  in  his  flat.  It  was  all 
in  vain  that  the  tears  streamed  from  my  eyes — 
all  in  vain  that  I  begged  him  at  least  to  take 
the  child.  I  called  him  brother,  kinsman,  royal 
Wrangler,  and  bade  him  remember  that  this 
was  a  matter  of  honor  between  him  and  me.  I 
begged  him  to  think  of  the  situation  he  had 
placed  me  in,  for  I  feared  the  laugh  of  callous 
cynics  as  much  as  the  cry  of  the  innocent  child, 
but  the  ungrateful  dead  answered  not." 

Mr.  Wrangler  paused  and  touched  his  hand 
kerchief  to  his  eyes,  while  Billy  gazed  at  him 
in  amazement,  uncertain  to  what  category  of 
disease  his  case  should  be  assigned.  "I  don't 
know  as  I  ever  heard  a  queerer  tale  than 
this,"  he  said  at  length.  "What  did  you  do 
about  it?" 

"I'm  doing  now,"  answered  Mr.  Wrangler. 
"It  is  on  a  special  mission  that  I'm  seeking 
you.  Warlock,  dear  boy,  you  don't  happen  to 


224  TIN-TYPES. 

have  a  bottle  of  paregoric  with  you,  do  you, 
now?" 

"Paregoric!"  exclaimed  Billy.  "Why,  is  the 
child  sick?" 

"Hanged  if  I  know!"  Mr.  Wrangler  replied, 
with  evident  sincerity.  "I'm  not  what  you'd 
call  a  connoisseur  in  infantile  disorders,  but 
I  guess  she's  sick.  Anyhow,  something's  the 
matter.  It  may  be  malaria,  or  chills,  or  meas 
les,  or  whooping-cough,  or  Bright's  disease. 
But  whatever  it  is,  it  keeps  her  very  wakeful 
at  night.  It  disturbs  her  rest  sadly.  That 
might,  perhaps,  be  overlooked ;  but  as  an  inti 
mate  consequence  it  also  disturbs  mine.  At 
first  I  supposed  it  was  because  she  did  not  get 
enough  nourishment,  so,  as  she  wouldn't  drink 
any  more  milk  from  her  bottle,  I  bought  a 
syringe,  and  filling  it  with  milk,  I  played  it 
down  the  little  darling's  throat." 

"Great  Scott!'  cried  Billy,  "it's  a  wonder 
she  didn't  choke  to  death!" 

"Is  it?"  asked  Mr.  Wrangler  innocently. 
"Well,  to  tell  the  truth,  she  did  come  dev'lish 
near  it,  and  so  I  inferred  that  I  hadn't  cor 
rectly  diagnosed  the  case.  After  she  had  got 
done  coughing  her  spirits  seemed  more  than 
ever  depressed.  I  went  to  bed  in  the  vain 
hope  that  her  supply  of  tears  would  in  time 
become  exhausted.  As  the  hours  drew  along 


TIN-TYPES.  22$ 

and  that  hope  died  away,  I  concluded  she 
must  have  headache.  I  had  one,  and  I  thought 
it  only  natural  that  she  should,  too.  The 
question  was,  what  remedy  should  I  apply?  In 
a  happy  moment  paregoric  occurred  to  me.  I 
seemed  indistinctly  to  remember  that  when  I 
was  a  child  paregoric  did  the  business.  How 
fortunate  one  is,  dear  boy,  in  such  moments 
as  that  to  have  the  memories  of  his  boyhood 
to  fall  back  on.  I  got  up,  dressed,  and  went 
out  to  hunt  a  drug-store.  Unfortunately,  the 
only  two  I  came  across  were  closed.  I 
returned  disconsolate,  but  as  I  entered  I  heard 
the  sound  of  your  hammer  and  saw  the  glim 
mer  of  the  lantern  on  your  ladder.  I  de 
scended  hither.  I  looked  upon  you  and  said : 
'Here  is  a  friend.'  Warlock,  old  fellow,  find 
me  some  paregoric !" 

"I  don't  know  much  about  babies,  Mr. 
Wrangler,"  said  Billy,  slowly  and  rather 
sternly,  "for  I  never  had  one,  and  I  never  was 
throwed  with  'em.  But  I  think  the  chances  is 
that  you'll  kill  your'n  before  morning." 

Mr.  Wrangler  was  standing  in  the  shadows 
where  Billy  couldn't  see  him  very  well,  but  his 
snappy  little  eyes  were  shining  in  a  way  that 
Billy  didn't  like. 

"How  old  is  the  baby?"  asked  Billy. 

"I  haven't  an  idea — not  one,"  answered  Mr. 


226  TIN-TYPES. 

Wrangler,  laughing  merrily,  as  if  his  not  know 
ing  were  a  monstrous  joke.  "But  she  can  walk 
and  talk." 

"And  you  trying  to  feed  her  on  milk  in  a 
bottle?"  exclaimed  Billy.  "How'd  you  like  to 
be  fed  on  iron  filings?  I  rather  think  they'd 
make  a  good  diet  for  you !"  Billy  was  indig 
nant,  and  he  fetched  his  hammer  down  on  a 
log  that  lay  near  with  a  blow  that  split  it 
through  and  through.  Mr.  Wrangler  stepped 
back  into  the  shadows  still  further,  and  his 
little  eyes  glowed  in  the  darkness  like  a  cat's. 

"Ha!  ha!"  he  laughed;  "good,  very  good. 
But  you  mustn't  make  fun  of  me,  old  fellow. 
It  isn't  fair,  now,  really." 

"Where  is  the  child,  anyhow?" 

"Upstairs." 

"Here,  in  this  house?" 

"Precisely." 

"Come  on,  then ;  take  me  to  her,  and  let's 
see  what  the  matter  is." 

"That's  a  good  fellow!"  cried  Mr.  Wrangler. 
"As  soon  as  I  saw  you  I  knew  you  would  prove 
to  be  my  deliverer.  Come." 

The  forge  fire  had  now  gone  out,  and  direct 
ing  Mr.  Wrangler  to  stand  on  top  of  the  lad 
der,  Billy  took  the  lantern,  blew  out  the  hang 
ing  lamp,  and  both  ascended  from  the  smithy 
into  the  hall  of  the  house.  Billy  locked  the 


TIN-TYPES.  227 

door  behind  him  and  followed  Mr.  Wrangler 
upstairs  into  the  third  story.  They  paused 
before  the  hall  bedroom  and  bent  forward  to 
listen.  Not  a  sound  broke  the  night's  stillness, 
and  softly  Mr.  Wrangler  turned  the  key  and 
opened  the  door.  Billy  moved  noiselessly 
ahead  and  lit  the  dull  gas. 

Upon  the  bed,  with  one  hand  under  her 
cheek  and  the  other  one,  small  and  dotted  with 
dimples,  resting  lightly  on  her  plump  neck,  lay 
as  pretty  a  child  as  he  had  ever  seen.  Her 
eyes  were  closed,  for  she  was  sleeping  heavily, 
as  if  repose  had  come  to  her  only  when  her 
little  frame  was  utterly  worn  out.  A  great 
mass  of  thick,  tangled  curls  clustered  on  the 
pillow  about  her  head.  A  dark  line  down  her 
flushed  cheek  marked  the  course  of  the  tears 
she  had  been  shedding,  and  the  pillow  that 
supported  her  was  still  wet  with  them. 

Billy  stooped  down  and  kissed  her  parted 
lips  and  her  white  forehead,  while  Mr.  Wrang 
ler,  leaning  jauntily  against  the  door,  hummed 
in  low  strains  a  melodious  lullaby. 

"Nothing  ails  this  child,"  said  Billy,  when 
the  sound  of  Mr.  Wrangler's  voice  had  died 
away.  "Nothing  at  all." 

"Warlock,  dear  boy,"  replied  Wrangler,  "I 
think  you  told  me  you  had  never  been  an 
uncle.  The  man  who  has  not  drank  the  bitter 


UPON  THE  BED  LAY  AS  PRETTY    A  CHILD  AS  HE  HAD    EVER 
SEEN. 


228 


TIN-TYPES.  229 

waters  ot  an  uncle's  experience  for  himself  is — 
pardon  me,  but  I  must  say  it — wholly  incompe 
tent  to  speak  as  to  the  woes  of  childhood. 
How  often  have  you  wooed  sleep  amid  the 
wailings  of  an  infant  voice?  I'm  disappointed 
in  you,  Warlock !" 

"Don't  talk  so  loud,  you'll  waken  her." 

"Spare  us  that.  Let  me  have  my  hat  and 
stick.  I'll  get  that  paregoric  if  I  have  to  com 
mit  burglary !"  and  Mr.  Wrangler  started  back 
as  if  fully  prepared  to  carry  out  his  threat. 

"Be  quiet,"  said  Billy,  "and  look  here.  My 
rooms  are  downstairs  where  I  live  with  my 
mother.  It's  too  cold  in  here  for  the  child. 
That's  one  thing  that  ails  her.  I'll  take  her 
down  with  me,  and  when  she's  had  her 
breakfast  in  the  morning,  you  can  come  for 
her." 

Mr.  Wrangler  seized  Billy's  hand  and  shook 
it  fervently.  "Dear  boy,"  he  said,  "you're  the 
kind  of  a  friend  to  have.  Take  her  and  give 
her  a  good  night's  rest." 

Billy  leaned  over  the  bed,  lifted  the  soundly 
sleeping  child  tenderly  in  his  big  arms  and,  fol 
lowed  by  Mr.  Wrangler,  he  carried  her  down 
to  his  own  room  and  deposited  her  upon  the 
bed.  Then  he  turned  to  Wrangler. 

"You'll  come  for  her  in  the  morning,  you 
know?"  he  said. 


HE  CARRIED  HER  DOWN  TO  HIS  OWN  ROOM. 


230 


TIN-TYPES.  231 

"Certainly,  old  fellow.  Good-night,  I  must 
get  some  sleep." 

"Good-night,"  said  Billy,  "and  a  Merry 
Christmas  to  you." 

Mr.  Wrangler  waved  his  hand  with  a  grand 
farewell  flourish,  blew  a  kiss  toward  the  little 
form  upon  the  bed,  and  passed  out  into  the 
hall.  He  waited  there  an  instant,  as  if  unde 
cided  what  course  to  pursue.  Then  he  ran 
upstairs  to  the  hall  room,  hurriedly  crowded 
his  personal  effects  that  lay  scattered  around 
the  room  into  his  valise,  and  ran  down  again 
into  the  street.  The  front  door  closed  with  a 
sharp  bang  behind  him,  and  he  quickly  disap 
peared  in  the  snowy  night. 

Billy  could  not  help  confessing  to  a  sense  of 
relief  when  his  curious  new  acquaintance  left 
him.  Not  that  he  felt  any  definite  fear  of  Mr. 
Wrangler.  The  human  being  had  yet  to  be 
born  of  whom  Billy  Warlock  was  afraid.  But 
there  was  a  something  about  Mr.  Wrangler 
that  he  didn't  fancy.  "It's  them  eyes,"  said 
Billy  "and  he  don't  make  no  noise  when  he 
walks."  His  own  bed  being  occupied  by  the 
child,  he  piled  a  lot  of  blankets  on  the  floor, 
stretched  himself  upon  them,  and  was  soon 
asleep. 

The  Christmas  sun  was  peeping  obliquely 
into  Billy's  room  and  making,  with  the  aid  of 


232  TIN-TYPES. 

his  shaving-glass,  all  sorts  of  fantastic  colors  on 
the  wall,  when  a  slight  tug  at  the  blankets 
which  covered  him  moved  him  to  start,  turn 
over,  open  his  eyes,  stare  blankly  before  him, 
shut  them,  open  them  again,  rub  them  desper 
ately,  and  finally  gaze  with  awakened  conscious 
ness  up  at  the  object  which  had  disturbed  his 
slumbers.  She  was  leaning  half  over  the  bed, 
her  little  fat  arms,  shoulders,  and  throat  all 
bare,  her  bright,  tangled  hair  knotted  in  bewil 
dering  confusion  all  about  her  head,  and  her 
big  blue  eyes  looking  down  upon  him  with  a 
curious  interest.  How  long  she  had  been 
awake  he  could  only  conjecture,  but  evidently 
her  patience  had  at  last  been  exhausted,  and 
she  had  set  about  premeditatedly  to  arouse 
him.  Billy  was  charmed  by  the  little  picture 
above  him,  and  smiled  a  cheery  greeting.  She 
smiled  too,  right  merrily,  and  said,  "What's 
your  name?" 

"Billy,"  said  he.     "What's  yours?" 

The  smile  straightway  faded  from  her  face 
like  the  color  from  a  withered  blossom,  and  she 
glanced  hurriedly  and  anxiously  around  the 
room. 

"Where's  the  black  man !"  she  whispered. 

"The  black  man  !"  cried  Billy.  "What  black 
man,  my  dear?" 


TIN-TYPES.  $3$ 

"Don't  you  know  him?  He's  had  me  ever 
so  long." 

Billy  was  puzzled.  "A  black  man  had  you?" 
he  repeated.  Why  you  don't  mean  your 
uncle,  do  you?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "that's  him,  and  he  says  if  I 
don't  call  him  'uncle'  he'll  cut  off  my  big  toe !" 

Billy  Warlock  jumped  upon  his  feet  like  a 
shot.  "The  devil  he  did!"  he  cried.  "I'll 
punch  his  head  for  that !" 

"And  his  knife  has  got  six  cutters  in  it !" 

"I  guess  he  was  only  funning,"  said  Billy. 
"He  didn't  mean  it." 

"That's  what  he  said,"  she  insisted. 

"Yes,  my  dear,  but  he  didn't  mean  it.  He 
was  joking." 

"That's  what  he  said !"  Her  accent  was 
very  positive,  and  she  added  as  if  conning  it 
over,  "His  knife  had  six  cutters." 

Billy  felt  himself  somewhat  at  a  loss  to  deal 
with  this  well-formed  impression,  so  he  con 
tented  himself  with  the  remark,  "But  you 
haven't  told  me  what  your  name  is  yet?" 

She  rose  upon  her  knees  in  the  bed  and 
leaned  over  toward  him.  "My  really  name 
is  Lotchen." 

"Lotchen  what?" 

"That's  all — just  Lotchen." 

"Where's  your  mother,  Lotchen?" 


234  TIN-TYPES. 

"I  don't  know;  do  you?" 

"There's  something  queer  about  this  busi 
ness,"  said  Billy  to  himself.  "And  if  that 
Wrangler  man  don't  make  it  plain  he'll  find 
hisself  in  trouble.  What  is  your  father's  name, 
Lotchen?"  he  inquired  aloud. 

"Who's  that?" 

"Your  father.     Haven't  you  a  father?" 

"I  don't  know.  The  black  man  says  he  can 
turn  me  into  a  toothpick  if  he  wants  to." 

Billy  doubled  up  his  fist  and  looked  at  it 
grimly. 

"Well,  he  won't  want  to,"  he  said.  "Don't 
you  be  afraid.  I'll  take  care  of  you." 

"Oh,  will  you?" 

"For  a  little  while,  anyhow." 

"How  long?" 

"Well,  till  you  get  your  breakfast." 

"Where's  he  gone?" 

"Who?" 

"The  black  man." 

"He's  upstairs  in  his  room.  You  can  go  to 
him  after  breakfast." 

"I  don't  want  to  go.  I'm  afraid  of  his  knife. 
I  sit  and  hold  on  my  big  toe  all  day.  Have 
you  got  a  knife,  too?"  She  looked  at  him 
with  an  expression  he  could  not  understand. 
Perhaps  her  natural  trust  in  mankind  had  been 
somewhat  shaken. 


TIN-TYPES.  235 

"My  knife  wont  hurt  you,"  he  said.  Lot- 
chen  crawled  to  the  edge  of  the  bed,  leaned 
over  and  put  her  two  hands  on  his,  and  said, 
"Then  let's  you  and  me  run  away  from  the 
black  man." 

Billy  looked  much  amused.  "No,"  he 
replied,  "we  won't  do  that,  Lotchen ;  but  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  he  was  to  run  away  from 
us.  Don't  your  uncle  love  you?" 

"He  loves  his  nose  better,"  she  replied. 

"His  which?" 

"His  nose.  He's  all  the  time  rubbing  it  up 
and  down." 

"But  don't  he  love  you,  too?" 

"No." 

"What  makes  you  think  that?" 

"'Cause  I'm  afraid  of  him." 

"When  did  you  see  him  first,  Lotchen?" 

"Oh,  ever  so  long.     He's  had  me,  you  know." 

"Yes,  I  know  that.  What's  he  been  doing 
with  you?" 

The  expression  on  her  face  was  so  blank  that 
Billy  saw,  whatever  Mr.  Wrangler  might  intend, 
she  knew  nothing  more  than  that  she  was 
being  "had"  under  circumstances  that  caused 
her  constant  fright.  He  did  not  question  her 
further,  but  went  into  the  kitchen  where  his 
mother  was  getting  the  griddle  hot  for  the 
buckwheat  cakes  and  the  spider  hot  for  the 


236  TIN-TYPES, 

sausages,  and  he  told  her  of  Wrangler  and  the 
child.  She  went  in  to  see  Lotchen,  and  snug 
gled  the  little  one  up  to  her  close  and  tight, 
and  told  her  she  should  have  a  merry  Christmas 
and  she  mustn't  be  afraid  of  anybody,  for  her 
Billy,  that  is,  Billy's  mother's  Billy,  could  whip 
anybody  on  earth,  she  didn't  care  who  he  was, 
and  nobody  should  frighten  this  dear  little 
soul ;  and  the  old  lady  began  now  to  express 
her  ideas  in  that  strange  language  which  is 
hidden  from  the  wise  and  prudent  but  revealed 
unto  grandmammas  and  babes.  "B'essings!" 
she  said,  "b'essings  on  'e  dear  heart  an'  e'  'ittie 
body,  wiv  'e  'ittie  youn'  nose,  an'  'e  ittie  b'u'  eyes, 
an'  'e  ittie  youn'  cheeks,  an'  e'  ittie  youn'  evysing, 
an'  nobody  s'all  bozzer  her  at  all,  not  'e  'east 
ittie  bit,  'tause  s'e  was  a  sweet  ittie  fwing,  and 
Billy,  wiz  him  big  fist  an'  him  date  big  arm, 
Billy  dust  take  'e  b'ack  mans  an'  all  'e  uzzer 
mans  wot  bozzer  zis  ittie  soul  an'  'e  frow  'em 
yite  in  'e  Norf  Yiver,  yite  in,  not  carin'  'tall 
bout  'e  ice,  but  dus'  frow  'em  in  an'  yet  'em  det 
out  e'  bes'  way  zay  tan.  B'ess  ittie  heart !" 

Then  Lotchen  smiled  and  put  up  her  pretty 
face  to  be  kissed,  which  she  didn't  have  to  do 
twice  before  it  was  kissed  by  them  both,  and 
Billy  who  hadn't  slung  hammers  all  his  life  for 
nothing,  rolled  up  his  shirt-sleeves  and  doubled 
up  his  fists,  and  sparred  away  at  the  air  as  if  to 


TIN-TYPES.  237 

suggest  what  would  happen  to  any  one  who 
laid  as  much  as  his  little  finger  on  her. 

All  through  the  breakfast  Billy  kept  his 
eyes  on  that  round,  pretty  face,  and  wondered 
what  he  should  say  and  do  when  the  "black 
man"  came  to  get  her.  He  began  to  grow 
moody  and  sullen  as  the  buckwheat  cakes  dis 
appeared,  and  when  thirty  of  them  had  been 
disposed  of  Billy  felt  himself  ready  to  meet 
Mr.  Wrangler.  He  had  some  questions  he 
desired  to  ask  Mr.  Wrangler,  and  the  oftener 
he  thought  them  over  the  more  he  felt  his 
fingers  itch  to  close  themselves  around  Mr. 
Wrangler's  long  and  scraggy  neck.  He  waited 
an  hour,  two  hours,  but  no  Mr.  Wrangler  came, 
and  at  last  Billy  concluded  to  mount  the  stairs 
and  to  interview  Mr.  Wrangler  in  the  hall 
bedroom. 

He  told  Lotchen  to  go  into  his  room,  where 
she  had  spent  the  night,  and  on  her  assuring 
him  that  she  wasn't  afraid,  he  locked  her  in 
and  stowed  the  key  away  in  his  pocket.  Then 
he  shot  upstairs  to  the  hall  bedroom.  He 
knocked,  but  no  answer  came.  He  opened 
the  door.  The  room  was  empty.  The  bed 
was  just  as  he  had  left  it  the  night  before  with 
the  impression  upon  it  of  the  little  form  he 
had  carried  away.  It  had  evidently  been 
without  a  tenant  during  the  night.  All  that 


238  TIN-TYPES. 

Christmas  Day  he  waited   and  watched  for  Mr. 
Wrangler,  but  he  waited  and  watched  in  vain. 

Two  days  afterward  an  express  wagon  drew 
up  before  the  smithy,  and  a  box  was  delivered 
to  Billy  marked  with  his  name.  It  contained 
a  liberal  supply  of  child's  clothing,  which 
Lotchen  recognized  as  hers.  Little  by  little 
Billy  and  his  mother  drew  from  her  fragments 
of  her  history.  She  remembered  a  big  house 
by  the  water,  and  a  little  bed  of  lilies-of- 
the-valley  under  a  couple  of  pear-trees.  She 
remembered  a  colored  man  named  Pete,  but 
there  was  no  response  in  her  memory  to  the 
words  "father"  and  "mother,"  and  the  only 
woman  who  appeared  to  be  impressed  on  her 
mind  was  one  who  called  her  "Lassie"  and  gave 
her  horrid  stuff  from  a  bottle  in  a  wooden 
spoon. 

Days  and  weeks  and  years  went  pn,  and  Billy 
Warlock's  purse  grew  plumper  and  his  heart 
grew  lighter  with  each  of  them.  His  smithy 
in  the  cellar  grew  in  dimensions  and  gradually 
he  absorbed  the  little  old  house  over  it.  The 
saloon  disappeared,  and  the  room  it  had  occu 
pied  became  a  parlor  for  Lotchen.  The  lodg 
ers  went  out  one  by  one  until  the  whole  house 
was  Billy's  dwelling. 

One  day  when  she  was  nearly  fourteen  years 


TIN-TYPES.  239 

old,  Billy  received  a  letter  that  worried  him 
a  good  deal.  It  was  dated  at  the  Newcastle 
Jail  in  Delaware.  It  read  : 

MY  DEAR  WARLOCK  : 

It  seems  to  be  definitely  settled  about  my 
being  an  error  of  judgment.  You  can  see  by 
the  enclosed  newspaper  clipping  that  I  ought 
not  to  have  been  involved  in  the  scheme  of  the 
creation.  You  needn't  mention  it  to  anybody 
else.  I  forget  what  name  you  knew  me  by,  but 
I  think  it  was 

CEPHAS  WRANGLER. 

The  newspaper  clipping  contained  these 
words : 

Nothing,  therefore,  remains  for  the  Court  but 
to  pronounce  the  sentence  which  a  jury,  almost 
wholly  of  your  own  selection,  has  adjudged 
your  fitting  doom.  The  crime  you  have  com 
mitted  is  the  most  dreadful  known  to  the  law. 
For  it  there  is  but  one  penalty,  the  requisition 
of  your  life  in  forfeit  for  the  one  you  have 
taken.  The  sentence  of  the  Court  is  that  you 
be  conducted  hence  to  the  prison  from  which 
you  came,  and  that  you  be  confined  there  until 
Friday,  the  i8th  day  of  March,  following,  and 
that  you  then,  between  the  hours  of  7  and  1 1 
in  the  morning,  be  hanged  By  the  neck  until 
you  are  dead,  and  may  God  have  mercy  on 
you ! 

This  is  all  that  Billy  Warlock  knows  or  cares 
to  know  of  the  circumstances  under  which 


24°  TIN-TYPES. 

Lotchen  became  his  child.  He  never  made 
the  slightest  effort  to  discover  more.  It  didn't 
interest  him,  and  he  didn't  wish  it  to  interest 
her.  She  was  his  child,  and  that  was  enough— 
at  least,  it  was  enough  for  several  years.  The 
precise  moment  at  which  it  ceased  to  be 
enough  is  not  fixed  in  Billy's  mind,  but  last 
Christmas,  when  Lotchen  found  a  gold  watch 
in  her  stocking,  and  when  she  came  and  put 
her  arms  around  his  neck  and  kissed  him, 
which  she  hadn't  done  very  often  of  late,  and 
when  she  whispered  that  she  wished  she  had 
something  to  give  him,  Billy  turned  his  eyes 
to  the  floor  and  stuck  his  big  fists  in  his  trow- 
sers  pockets,  and  did  a  power  of  thinking.  He 
knew  then,  if  he  had  not  fully  known  it  before, 
that  for  her  to  be  his  child  was  not  enough. 
So  he  said  very  solemnly,  "Are  you  sure 
you  mean  that,  Lotchen?  Now,  don't  answer 
without  you  know,  for  you  might  have  some 
thing  you  wouldn't  want  to  give  me,  and  if  I 
was  to  ask  for  it  and  you  was  to  look  hesita- 
tin',  I — well  I  don't  know  what  I  should  do." 

"I  don't  have  to  think,  Billy,"  Lotchen  an 
swered  promptly,  "for  I've  been  thinking  a 
great  deal  and  wondering  whether  you — ' 

She  stopped  there  short,  and  her  face — her 
pretty  face,  her  dear,  round,  dimpled  face, 
her  truthful,  honest,  womanly  face — got  very 


TIN-TYPES.  241 

red,  and  she  jumped  up  and  ran  out  of  the 
room. 

After  that  last  Christmas,  Billy  and  Lotchen 
talked  and  walked  with  each  other  on  a  differ 
ent  footing  from  that  on  which  their  inter 
course  had  previously  been  conducted.  He 
said  nothing  to  her,  nor  she  to  him,  that 
referred  to  their  interrupted  conversation  until 
October  came,  and  then  one  day  he  said : 
"Lotchen,  is  my  Christmas  gift  ready?"  and  he 
held  out  his  hand  to  her — both  hands — and 
smiled. 

"Yes,  Billy,"  she  answered. 

And  on  next  Tuesday  morning,  Christmas 
morning,  when  the  bells  are  ringing  merrily 
and  all  the  world  is  glad,  Billy  Warlock,  as  I 
said  at  the  very  beginning  of  my  story,  dressed 
in  his  big  frock  coat  and  the  whitest  of  snowy 
neckties,  will — but  you  know  the  rest,  so 
what's  the  use  of  my  telling  it? 


MR.  CINCH. 

IN  the  construction  of  Mr.  Cinch  nature  had 
been  generous,  not  to  say  prodigal,  of  mate 
rials,  but  certainly  a  wiser  discretion  might 
have  been  exercised  in  using  them.  The  centre 
of  Mr.  Cinch's  gravity  was  much  too  far  above 
his  waist.  All  the  rest  of  him  appeared  to  have 
been  fitted  out  at  the  expense  of  his  legs,  which, 
unable  to  endure  so  oppressive  a  burden,  had 
spread. 

To  say  that  the  shape  of  his  legs  was  a  source 
of  unhappiness  to  Mr.  Cinch  would  be  a  feeble 
and  inadequate  expression  of  his  feelings. 
"Them  bow-legs"  was  a  phrase  into  which  he 
poured  a  degree  of  self-contempt  altogether 
pitiful.  They  were,  of  course,  homely  to  look 
at  and  not  in  the  least  serviceable.  Unaided 
by  his  stout  hickory  stick,  they  could  not  trans 
port  Mr.  Cinch  across  the  room.  But  there 
was  no  evidence  that  their  shape  or  size  was 
due  on  their  part  to  any  motive  of  malice  or  of 
indolence,  and  it  seemed  quite  unreasonable 
that  he  should  feel  toward  them  so  harshly. 
242 


TIN-TYPES.  243 

His  disgust  for  them  did  not,  indeed,  origin 
ate  with  himself.  It  is  entirely  probable  that 
he  would  never  have  thought  of  despising 
them  as  he  did  but  for  Mrs.  Cinch.  That  ex 
cellent  lady,  with  all  her  many  virtues,  could 
never  forgive  those 'legs.  Their  degeneration, 
as  she  regarded  it,  had  not  begun  when  she 
married  Mr  Cinch.  He  was  then  a  slight 
young  man  and  his  legs  were  unexceptionable 
in  size  and  shape.  They  had  become  bowed 
and  insufficient  within  comparatively  recent 
years,  and  she  had  never  felt  quite  able  to  ac 
cept  Mr.  Cinch's  assurances  that  he  was  not  at 
fault  in  the  matter. 

Let  it  not  be  thought  that  this  excellent 
couple  were  wanting  toward  each  other  in  those 
sweet  graces  which  so  beautify  the  marriage 
relation.  They  had  lived  and  loved  together 
nearly  a  quarter  of  a  century,  and  had  shared 
in  those  years  their  full  measure  of  joys  and 
sorrows.  But  Mrs.  Cinch  was  not  without  her 
humors,  and  when  she  was  entertaining  an  acid 
humor  she  could  not  get  her  husband's  unfor 
tunate  legs  out  of  her  mind. 

No  matter  what  may  have  been  the  subject 
that  had  originally  vexed  her,  it  was  the  inva 
riable  experience  that  those  legs  became  the 
focus  to  which  her  excited  wrath  was  drawn, 
and  then,  indeed,  it  must  be  owned,  she  was 


244  TIN-TYPES. 

exceedingly  hard  to  deal  with.  She  would  re 
call  in  bitter  phrases  the  fact  that  he  had  mar 
ried  her  with  other  and  honester  legs,  and  she 
would  plainly  intimate  that  in  substituting 
these  he  had  acted  in  an  unfair  and  unmanly 
way. 

This  was  naturally  distressing  to  Mr.  Cinch. 
He  keenly  felt  the  injustice  of  the  insinuation, 
but  at  the  same  time  his  mind  was  filled  with  a 
supreme  loathing  of  his  legs,  and  he  was  only 
deterred  from  going  to  a  hospital  and  from 
having  them  straightway  taken  off  by  the  reflec 
tion  that  an  entirely  legless  husband  was  not 
likely  to  be  more  satisfactory,  upon  the  whole, 
than  one  whose  legs  were  bowed. 

It  was  from  a  domestic  scene  such  as  these 
sentences  have  indicated  that  Mr.  Cinch  issued 
one  morning  recently,  and  passing  out  through 
his  hallway  into  the  street  as  fast  as  he  could 
wobble,  he  tumbled  into  his  waiting  coupe  and 
hurried  down  to  business.  Mr.  Cinch  was  the 
keeper  of  a  livery-stable,  an  establishment  held 
in  much  esteem  by  the  public  and  the  trade, 
and  yielding  an  abundant  revenue.  His  busi 
ness  was  one  of  the  largest  of  its  kind  in  New 
York,  a  fact  which,  with  many  others  equally 
important,  was  set  forth  in  unmistakable  phrases 
upon  Mr.  Cinch's  business  cards,  copiously  il 
lustrated  with  cuts  of  prancing  horses  and 


TIN-TYPES.  245 

handsome  vehicles  and  of  the  extensive  prem 
ises  in  which  they  were  kept. 

The  appearance  of  the  coupe  as  it  rolled  into 
the  stable  fetched  from  the  inner  office  Mr. 
Cinch's  manager,  a  bald-headed  young  man, 
with  red  eyes  and  a  hopeful  soul,  who  dexter 
ously  assisted  his  employer  to  alight,  and  aided 
him  into  the  main  office  and  into  the  huge  arm 
chair,  so  placed  as  to  command  a  fair  view  of 
the  entire  establishment.  From  this  armchair, 
Mr.  Cinch  rarely  moved  throughout  the  live 
long  day. 

"Well,  Bob,"  said  Mr.  Cinch,  so  soon  as  he 
had  caught  his  breath,  "how's  things  going?" 

"Fair  to  middlin',  sir,  fair  to  middlin'.  The 
regulars  is  'bout  the  same,  but  the  casuals  is 
light." 

"Well,  a  man  can't  always  have  things  the 
way  he  wants  'em,  Bob;  ef  he  could  there 
wouldn't  be  as  much  trouble  as  they  is." 

"No,  sir,  that's  very  true,  sir,  nor  so  much 
fun,  neither,  come  to  think  of  it." 

"How  do  you  make  that  out,  Bob?" 

"Well,  sir,  ef  everybody  could  have  whatever 
they  wanted,  there  wouldn't  be  much  excite 
ment  going  on.  They'd  get  tired  o'  wanting 
before  long  fearful  that  the  time  'ud  come  when 
they  wouldn't  be  nothin'  to  want." 

Mr.   Cinch  was  quite    impressed    with    the 


246  TIN-TYPES. 

force  of  this  philosophy.  Bob's  views  on  men 
and  things  often  entertained  Mr.  Cinch.  He 
had  a  good  deal  of  respect  for  Bob.  Bob's  cir 
cumstances  had  denied  him  many  of  those 
early  advantages  which  are  so  useful  in  culti 
vating  the  habit  of  profound  thought,  and  yet, 
to  his  greater  credit,  it  must  be  said  that  he 
not  infrequently  performed  a  deal  of  subtle 
cogitation.  In  this  he  pleased  Mr.  Cinch,  who 
was  by  no  means  all  a  man  of  beef  and  brawn. 
Mr.  Cinch  had  read  a  considerable  quantity  of 
poetry  and  was  a  subscriber  to  a  scientific  peri 
odical.  He  had  a  decided  tendency  toward 
occult  speculation,  and  had  reached  that  point 
in  his  orthodoxy  where  he  believed  there  were 
a  good  many  more  things  that  we  don't  know 
than  that  we  do. 

He  had  turned  over  Bob's  remark  once  or 
twice  in  his  mind,  and  was  about  to  say 
something  by  way  of  rejoinder  when  the 
office  door  was  opened  and  a  young  woman 
entered,  observing  that  she  wished  to  pay  her 
bill. 

She  was  a  tall,  well-dressed,  stoutly  built 
young  woman,  with  large,  strong  features,  and 
an  abundant  supply  of  blonde  hair,  partially 
covered  with  a  sombre  brown  bonnet.  Her 
eyes  were  big  and  blue,  and  her  voice  quite 
pleasant  to  hear. 


TIN-TYPES.  247 

"This  way,  miss,"  said  Bob,  from  his  high 
stool  behind  the  desk.  "What  name,  please?" 

"Frances  Emiline  Beeks." 

"Beeks,  miss?  Yes,  miss.  Let's  see — BA  to 
BE,  Barker,  Becker,  Beech,  Beeks!  Frances 
Emiline  Beeks.  Eighty-seven  dollars  and  fifty 
cents,  if  you  please." 

"That  seems  like  a  good  deal  of  money," 
observed  Miss  Beeks. 

"Well,  now,  it  is,  miss,"  said  Bob.  "But  you 
use  a  kerridge  a  good  deal,  miss,  mostly  every 
day  and  sometimes  oftener.  You've  called 
more  this  month  than  ever.  Why  don't  you 
keep  a  hoss,  miss?  That  ud  be  the  cheapest." 

"It  certainly  would  if  my  bills  are  to  run 
up  like  this.  However,  I'm  too  busy  now  to 
talk  about  it.  Let  me  have  your  pen  while 
I  fill  out  this  check.  There — is  that  right?" 

"Yes,  miss,  thank  you.  I  think  that  sorrel 
would  suit  you  nicely.  He's  only — " 

"Well,  I'll  think  it  over.     Good-morning!" 

Miss  Beeks  went  out  and  Mr.  Cinch,  who  had 
been  regarding  her  over  his  glasses,  inquired, 
"Who's  the  young  woman,  Bob?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir,  hardly,"  said  Bob,  "but  I 
think  she's  some  kind  of  a  doctor." 

"She  seems  to  be  makin'  pretty  good  bills." 

"And  they  gets  better  all  the  time.  What 
ever  she  doctors,  it's  a  good  business,  for  she 


24  TIN-TYPES. 

pays  her  bill  the  day  after  she  gets  it  every 
time." 

"What  makes  you  think  she  doctors?" 

"She  said  so,  as  near  as  I  could  make  out. 
She  come  in  here  one  day  last  month — it  was 
when  I  had  that  staving  big  bile  on  my  elbow, 
you  remember?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I  was  settin'  here  huggin'  that  bile, 
and  it  was  just  thumpin'.  Seemed  to  me  's  if 
they  was  a  whole  bag  o'  carpet-tacks  stuck  in 
that  arm.  I  was  so  used  up  I  couldn't  walk 
around,  and  so  stuck  full  of  pain  I  couldn't  set 
still.  Well,  's  I  said,  she  come  in  and  ordered  a 
coach,  and  while  it  was  being  fetched  around 
she  give  me  a  look  and  she  says,  'What's  the 
matter?'  I  says  'I  got  a  bile.' 

"  'A  what?'  says  she. 

"'A  bile,'  says  I. 

"  'Oh,  no,'  says  she. 

'  'Well,  if  you  don't  think  so/  says  I,  'look 
there,'  says  I,  and  I  prodooced  the  bile,  which 
'peared  to  me  to  be  pretty  good  evidence. 

"She  looked  at  it  and  then  says,  as  cool  as 
you  please,  'Well,  what  of  it?' 

"'Don't  you  call  that  a  bile?'  says  I,  'and  if 
you  don't  think  it  hurts  you'd  better.'  You 
see,  bein'  nearly  crazy  with  the  hurts  of  it,  and 
her  so  unconcernin',  I  thought  she  was  workin' 


'A    WHAT?'    SAYS    SHE.       'A    BILE?'     SAYS    I. 
249 


250  TIN-TYPES. 

a  guy  on  me.  But  she  says,  'I  see  what  you 
call  a  bile,  and  maybe  you  think  it  hurts,  but  I 
know  it  don't.  Why,  what  is  it?'  says  she ;  'it's 
nothing  but  a  little  lump  of  red  flesh.  It  don't 
hurt.  It  can't  hurt.  How  can  it?  Flesh  don't 
live  any  more  than  wood  or  stone,  and  if  it 
don't  live,  how  can  it  feel?  It's  you  that  feels 
and  hurts,  and  you  have  made  yourself  believe 
it's  this  little  lump  of  red  flesh,  and  you've  gone 
and  painted  it  and  greased  it  and  wrapped  it 
up  and  fooled  with  it  when  there's  nothing  the 
matter  with  it,  and  everything  the  matter  with 
you.'  That's  what  she  said,  looking  me  dead 
in  the  eyes." 

Mr.  Cinch  had  grown  very  much  interested 
in  Bob's  account  of  this  peculiar  conversation. 
As  Bob  went  on  he  had  screwed  around  in  his 
arm-chair,  and  had  drawn  his  brow  into  a  reflec 
tive  knot. 

"I  don't  know  as  I  understand  what  that 
means,  Bob,"  he  observed,  cautiously. 

"It  took  me  a  good  while  to  get  it  through 
me,"  replied  the  manager,  "but  I  think  I  see 
what  she  was  driving  at.  She  means  that  a 
man's  body  is  just  like  any  other  matter  and 
don't  make  feelings,  and  that's  it's  his  soul  that 
does  the  feeling,  and  that  when  his  soul  feels 
bad  he  says  he  has  a  bile  or  the  colic  or  the 
rheumatism,  and  begins  to  put  on  plasters  and 


TIN-TYPES.  251 

take  pills  when  he  ought  not  to  do  anything  of 
the  kind,  but  ought  to  talk  to  her  and  get  her 
to  cure  his  soul.  That's  the  way  she  give  it  to 
me,  anyhow.  She  talked  here  for  half  an  hour. 
She  said  that  it  was  silly  to  set  your  feelings 
down  to  this  or  that  place  in  your  body.  She  said 
she  could  talk  to  me  awhile  about  the — er,  let's 
see,  gravity,  no,  yes,  gravi — oh,  I  know !  about 
the  gravitation  of  the  soul,  and  my  feelings 
would  get  good  and  the  bile  go  down." 

"Oh,  rats !"  remarked  Mr.  Cinch. 

"Well,  I  don't  know,  sir,"  replied  Bob,  doubt 
fully.  "I  don't  know  but  what  I  think  there  is 
something  in  it?" 

"Stuff!  Bob,  how  kin  there  be?  Do  you 
mean  that  she  made  out  'at  she  could  cure  any 
thing  by  just  talking  to  you?" 

"Not  exactly;  no  sir.  Her  p'int  is  that  what 
we  call  biles  or  malaria,  or — " 

"Bow-legs,  mebbe,"  put  in  Mr.  Cinch  both 
jocosely  and  ruefully. 

"Yes,  sir,  bow-legs." 

"What !" 

"Bow-legs,  too — why  not?  Just  as  easy 
bow-legs  as  biles." 

"Well,  go  on." 

"All  such  things,  she  says,  is  appearances. 
Our  souls  being  sick,  they  look  through  our 
eyes  in  a  sorter  cock-eyed  way  and  see  some- 


252  TIN-TYPES. 

thing  they  call  a  bile  or  a  pair  of  bow-legs. 
The  bile  and  the  bow-legs  aint  really  there, 
you  know ;  we  only  think  so,  which  is  just  as 
bad  as  if  they  was  there.  If  we  was  to  go  to 
her  and  get  our  souls  well,  we'd  look  out  of  our 
eyes  straight  and  wouldn't  see  no  bile  or  bow- 
legs.  Neither  would  nobody  else.  This  is  the 
best  explaining  I  can  do,  sir.  I  understands  it 
pretty  well,  but  I  can't  talk  it.  She's  a  daisy 
talker,  though.  She  can  talk  like  a  dictionary." 

"Bob,"  said  Mr.  Cinch,  solemnly,  "do  you 
mean  to  tell  me  that  this  young  woman  can  talk 
me  into  believing  that  I  aint  got  bow-legs?" 

Bob  hesitated.  He  looked  at  Mr.  Cinch  long 
and  seriously.  Mr.  Cinch  took  up  his  walking- 
stick  and  slowly  lifted  himself  upon  his  feet. 

"Look  at  them  legs,  Bob.  You  can  shove  a 
prize  punkin  through  'em  without  touching. 
Can  this  young  woman  make  me  believe  them 
legs  is  straight?  If  she  can,  Bob,  if  she  can,  she 
don't  need  to  buy  no  hoss,  nor  pay  no  coach- 
hire  any  more." 

The  responsibility  of  this  awful  moment  was 
too  much  for  Bob.  "If  I  was  you,"  he  said  dis 
creetly,  "I'd  talk  to  her  about  it  the  next  time 
she  comes  in." 

Mr.  Cinch  made  no  reply,  but  he  continued 
for  several  minutes  to  look  ruefully  down  where 
he  believed  his  legs  to  be,  and  then  he  resumed 


"  LOOK    AT    THEM    LEGS,     BOB  !  " 


253 


254  TIN-TYPES. 

his  chair.  Bob  returned  to  his  accounts  and  a 
heavy  tide  of  business  flowed  in  to  engage  their 
attention.  Business  was  always  well  done  in 
Mr.  Cinch's  office,  and  it  suffered  that  morning 
no  more  than  on  any  other  morning,  and  yet 
there  was  a  certain  influence  in  the  room  which 
seemed  to  be  affecting  both  him  and  Bob. 
They  talked  together  less  than  usual  and  in  ad 
dressing  others  were  short  and  sharp.  When 
Bob  got  off  his  stool  and  said  he  was  going  to 
luncheon  he  broke  a  silence  which  might  al 
most  be  called  ominous. 

He  was  not  long  gone,  but  upon  his  return 
the  office  was  empty.  It  was  so  unusual  a  cir 
cumstance  for  Mr.  Cinch  to  go  out  that  Bob 
wondered  not  a  little  what  had  happened.  His 
wonderment  increased  as  the  afternoon  drew 
along  and  Mr.  Cinch  did  not  return.  Nobody 
could  tell  where  or  when  he  had  gone  or  in 
what  manner  his  departure  had  been  effected. 
He  had  not  made  use  of  his  coupe  or  any  other 
vehicle.  No  scrap  of  writing  could  be  found 
that  threw  the  least  light  upon  so  startling  a 
proceeding,  nor  did  any  one  turn  up  with 
whom  a  message  had  been  left. 

Evening  approached  and  numerous  misgiv 
ings  entered  Bob's  mind.  He  knew  that  Mr. 
Cinch's  domestic  life  was  not  without  moments 
of  bitterness,  and  he  was  satisfied  that  one  of 


TIN-TYPES.  255 

them  had  preceded  his  appearance  at  the  office 
that  morning.  The  vague  suspicions  that  crept 
into  his  head  were  strengthened  when,  just 
before  6  o'clock,  a  messenger  came  from  Mrs. 
Cinch  loaded  with  inquiries.  Mr.  Cinch's  life 
was  as  regular  as  the  movements  of  the  stars. 
He  had  gone  home  at  4:30  P.M.  for  twenty 
years.  Bob  was  really  alarmed.  He  made  a 
careful  search  throughout  the  stables.  That 
failing  to  give  him  the  slightest  clew,  he  went 
to  see  Mrs.  Cinch. 

When  he  told  that  excellent  woman  that  her 
husband  had  disappeared,  she  precipitately 
swooned  away.  The  unhappy  incident  of  the 
morning  was  still  fresh  in  her  repentant  mind, 
and  she  could  have  no  doubt  that  her  over- 
worried  lord  had  sought  in  the  North  River  the 
peace  of  mind  she  had  denied  him  in  his  home. 
Bob  could  not  comfort  her.  He  could  only 
apply  a  wet  towel  to  her  heated  temples  and 
beg  her  to  be  calm.  This  he  did  with  praise 
worthy  diligence  during  the  greater  part  of  the 
evening,  and  when  he  left  it  was  with  the  under 
standing  that,  if  the  missing  man  were  not  seen 
or  heard  from  by  the  next  morning,  he  would 
notify  the  police  and  have  them  send  out  a  gen 
eral  alarm. 

This,  indeed,  had  to  be  done.  Mr.  Cinch 
had  disappeared.  His  affairs  were  all  right,  his 


256  TIN-TYPES. 

fortune  untouched  and  no  motive  anywhere  ap 
parent  why  he  should  have  taken  so  reckless  a 
step.  The  police  could  get  no  trace  of  him. 
Fat  and  bowlegged  men  were  encountered  here, 
there  and  everywhere,  were  seized  and  sharply 
questioned,  but  from  none  of  these  incidents  of 
the  search  was  the  slightest  hope  extracted. 
Two  days  passed,  and  still  another,  but  the 
mystery  continued  to  be  dark  and  impenetra 
ble  and  Mrs.  Cinch  was  wrapped  in  an  envelope 
of  grief. 


Bob's  story  about  Miss  Beeks  and  her  novel 
views  had  profoundly  impressed  Mr.  Cinch,  and 
being  so  constituted  that  when  he  got  hold  of 
an  idea  he  had  to  give  himself  up  to  its  consid 
eration,  Miss  Beeks  and  the  possible  effect  of 
her  conversation  upon  his  legs  kept  revolving 
before  his  eyes  all  the  morning.  He  was  not 
able  to  form  any  very  definite  idea  of  what  she 
might  be  expected  to  do,  but  he  thought  it 
quite  within  the  possibilities  for  her  to  improve 
the  situation.  The  notion  that  in  ailments  of 
all  kinds  there  was  a  large  element  of  imagina 
tion  had  occurred  to  him  frequently  when  lis 
tening  to  Mrs.  Cinch's  accounts  of  her  numer 
ous  physical  tribulations,  and  he  was  by  no 
means  sure  that  his  legs  were  as  bad  as  they 


TIN-TYPES.  257 

had  been  represented.  He  thought  it  might 
well  be  that  he  had  obtained  an  exaggerated 
notion  of  their  deformity,  and  if  Miss  Beeks 
merely  succeeded  in  convincing  him  of  that  the 
gain  would  be  something.  He  picked  up  the 
address-book  during  the  morning  and  ascer 
tained  that  she  lived  in  a  large  apartment-house 
in  Broadway,  distant  from  his  stables  less  than 
a  block.  While  Bob  was  at  luncheon  he  got 
upon  his  feet,  went  to  the  door  and  looked 
down  the  street  at  the  big  flat.  An  irresistible 
desire  to  go  and  talk  the  matter  over  with  Miss 
Beeks  took  possession  of  him,  and  almost  before 
he  knew  it  he  was  seated  in  a  little  reception- 
room  waiting  for  the  appearance  of  the  remark 
able  young  woman  who  professed  to  be  able  to 
talk  away  a  boil. 

She  did  not  keep  him  waiting  long,  and 
when  she  held  out  her  hand  and  wished  him 
"Good-morning,"  he  was  quite  captivated  with 
her  cheery  voice  and  smile. 

Mr.  Cinch  proceeded  directly  to  business. 
First  he  took  from  his  pocket-book  one  of  his 
large  and  profusely  illustrated  business  cards 
and  delivered  it  with  something  of  pride  by 
way  of  introduction.  Then  he  remarked  that 
he  had  heard  of  her  and  of  her  way  of  doctor 
ing  and  he  thought  he'd  just  drop  around  and 
see  what  she  could  do  in  his  case. 


258  TIN-TYPES. 

"Why,  what  ails  you?"  she  asked.  "You 
look  very  comfortable." 

"So  I  be,"  replied  Mr.  Cinch,  much  gratified, 
"but  it's  all  along  of  my  legs." 

"And  what  of  them?" 

"Well  you  see,  they're  bowed,  and — 

"Don't  say  what  I  see,  Mr.  Cinch.  We  see 
with  our  minds  and  only  through  our  eyes. 
My  mind  is  healthy,  and  as  I  see  your  legs 
there's  nothing  the  matter  with  them." 

"You  don't  say  so!" 

"To  be  sure  I  do.  At  the  same  time  if  you 
say  your  legs  are  bowed,  there  is,  of  course, 
trouble  somewhere." 

"Of  course,"  assented  Mr.  Cinch. 

"The  question  is,  where?  Some  people 
would  say,  in  the  legs.  They  would  try  to 
make  you  believe  that  your  legs,  mere  combina 
tions  of  flesh  and  blood,  could  go  off  by  them 
selves  and  get  bowed,  or  knock-kneed,  or  long 
or  short,  or  slim  or  fat,  or  gouty,  or  palsied,  or 
paralyzed,  or  rheumatic,  or  shriveled  or  any 
thing  else  just  as  they  wanted  to  and  all  of 
their  own  option,  as  though  they  were  a  living 
soul  with  a  living  will  and  not  simply  so  many 
square  inches  of  inanimate  matter.  Now,  Mr. 
Cinch,  that's  all  nonsense.  Don't  you  believe 
a  word  of  it !" 

"Well,  now,"  replied  the  old  man  slowly,  "J 


OUR    BODIES    ARE    BUT    GHOSTS,"      SAID    THE    SCIENTIST. 


259 


2  Go  TIN-TYPES. 

never  thought  of  it  that-away.  It  don't  seem 
as  if  they  could  go  and  get  bowed  all  of  them 
selves.  But,"  and  he  looked  down  toward  them 
dubiously,  "they  do  'pear  to  be  bowed,  now, 
don't  they?" 

"Maybe  they  do.  We'll  come  to  that  pres 
ently.  But  first  let  me  prove  that,  if  they  are 
bowed,  they  didn't  do  it.  Suppose  you  were 
to  have  them  cut  off  at  your  hips,  would  they 
go  on  and  bow  more?" 

"Why,  no." 

"Of  course  not,"  said  the  Scientist,  triumph 
antly.  That  shows  they  didn't  bow  themselves. 
Then  who  did  bow  them?  I'll  tell  you.  You 
have  done  it,  Mr.  Cinch,  you,  yourself." 

"Mebbe  I  did,  mebbe  I  did.  I  won't  deny 
it.  But  this  I  will  say — that  I  didn't  go  for  to 
do  it." 

"Perhaps  not.  But,  consciously  or  uncon 
sciously,  your  mind  became — well,  for  want  of 
a  better  word,  sick.  In  that  sick  condition  it 
began  to  look  around  for  a  place  in  your  body 
to  reflect  its  trouble  upon.  It  chose  your  legs, 
and  straightway  your  eyes,  prompted  by  your 
diseased  mind,  began  to  tell  you  that  your 
legs  were  bowed." 

"Well,  really!"  cried  Mr.  Cinch,  "how  very 
plain  you  make  it." 

"It's  plain  enough  to  such  as  will  see.     Mat- 


TIN-TYPES.  261 

ter,  Mr.  Cinch,  does  not  act.  Matter  has  no 
will.  It  doesn't  feel,  or  get  tired,  or  wear  out 
or  do  any  of  the  things  attributed  to  it  by 
thoughtless  people.  Matter  is  inanimate  and 
takes  form  only  as  the  mind,  the  soul,  the  Vital 
Force,  wills  that  it  shall.  It  responds  to  the 
soul.  Therefore,  if  your  legs  are  bowed,  your 
mind  is  at  fault." 

"What  a  very  uncomfortable  thing  your 
mind  must  be !"  said  Mr.  Cinch.  "It's  'most 
as  well  not  to  have  none !" 

"Better,"  exclaimed  the  Scientist,  earnestly, 
"if  it  is  to  be  out  of  harmony  with  the  Mind 
Universal.  And  now  we  come  to  the  real  point. 
The  thing  to  cure  is  the  thing  that  is  sick. 
The  bowness  of  your  legs  is  the  reflection  of 
your  bowed  mind.  Straighten  your  mind  and 
your  legs  will  be  as  straight  as  your  walking- 
stick.  Shut  your  eyes,  Mr.  Cinch,  and  think 
only  of  what  I  say.  Nothing  is  real  except  the 
ideal.  The  corporeal  realm  of  created  being 
corresponds  precisely  to  the  condition  of  the 
ideal.  Do  you  see  the  point?" 

"Sorter,"  replied  Mr.  Cinch,  feebly,  "but  I 
b'lieve  I  could  see  it  better  if  I  was  to  open  my 
eyes." 

"No,  no,  no!"  cried  the  Scientist.  "It  is 
highly  necessary  to  keep  them  shut  and  turned 
inwards," 


262  TIN-TYPES. 

"I  don't  b'lieve  I  can  come  that,  mum,"  Mr. 
Cinch  rejoined,  apologetically.  "My  eyes  is 
getting  a  bit  old." 

"Sink  them  far  into  your  soul!  Look  there 
to  find  your  bad  and  ugly  ideals!  Give  me 
your  hand,  Mr.  Cinch.  Thus,  with  our  hands 
clasped,  will  our  spiritual  understandings  com 
mune.  Together  we  will  pursue  our  investiga 
tions  into  the  recesses  of  your  ethereal  nature, 
and  with  the  clean  new  broom  of  inspired  rea 
son,  will  we  sweep  away  the  dusty  cobwebs  of 
bad  ideals!" 

Mr.  Cinch  heaved  a  huge  sigh?  But  he  shut 
his  eyes  vigorously,  and  received  into  his  big 
hard  fist  the  Scientist's  little  white  one,  and 
murmured,  "All  right,  mum ;  whip  up  lively." 

"Our  bodies  are  but  ghosts,"  said  the  Scien 
tist,  "combinations  of  symbols.  The  combina 
tions  change  as  the  soul  that  they  symbolize 
changes.  I  look  at  your  body  and  it  tells  me 
of  your  soul.  I  see  a  soul  full  of  doubt  and 
darkness,  and  the  doubt  and  darkness  are  sym 
bolized  in  the  curved  and  ugly  form  of  your 
legs.  Brush  away  the  doubt !  Dispel  the  dark 
ness  !  Aspire  toward  the  Life  of  the  Spirit,  and 
as  your  aspirations  are  tenacious  they  will  draw 
your  legs  into  the  shape  which,  like  the  spirit  it 
typifies,  will  be  all  beauty.  Does  your  soul 
respond,  Mr.  Cinch?" 


TIN-TYPES.  263 

"Well,  mum,  I  dunno.  I'm  trying  hard, 
but—" 

"Ah,  there  is  unbelief  there.  I  see  it — a  black 
mountain-cloud  of  unbelief.  Faith,  Mr.  Cinch, 
is  the  ethical  law  of  gravitation.  You  already 
feel  its  influence.  It  draws  you  to  the  Spiritual 
Center  of  Essence.  Your  soul  still  walks  in  the 
shadow,  but  toward  the  light.  You  are  being 
drawn  away  from  the  doubt.  Don't  you  feel 
yourself  being  drawn,  Mr.  Cinch?" 

"I  b'lieve  I  do,  mum;  I  really  b'lieve  I  do. 
That  left  leg  give  a  kinder  twitch  just  as  you 
spoke." 

"Of  course  it  did  !  Of  course  it  did  !  You 
are  in  the  sea  of  Infinite  Thought,  floating, 
floating  like  a  chip  on  the  water.  The  evil 
ways  of  falsehood,  doubt  and  unbelief  are  try 
ing  to  beat  you  away  from  the  Current  of 
Truth, — but  no !  it  shall  not  be !  I  will  stand 
by  to  fight  them  back,  and  to  urge  on  those  other 
waves  that  will  bear  you  into  the  current.  One 
is  approaching  now — the  Wave  of  Harmony. 
It  touches  you  gently,  lifts  you  on  its  crystal 
bosom,  and,  ere  it  leaves  to  do  the  same  duty 
to  another  floating  chip,  it  moves  you  many 
paces  nearer  to  the  current.  And  now,  as  you 
rest,  another  comes.  Lo,  it  is  intercepted  by 
the  discordant  ripples  of  suspicion,  and  a  strug 
gle  ensues!  But,  look!  Oh,  prythee  look! 


2  64  TIN-TYPES. 

From  the  white  caps  of  conflict  the  wave, 
larger,  purer  than  ever,  emerges,  and  comes  on 
apace.  It  is  the  Wave  of  Joy!  It  moves 
quickly !  It  takes  you  upon  its  sparkling  crest ! 
Whence  the  diamond  lights  of  happiness  flash ! 
Merrily  flash !  It  heaves  you  swiftly  on  !  On ! 
On!  Ah!  Yes!  Nearer!  Nearer  still!  One 
more  impulse  and  you  are  there !  It  lifts  its 
glittering  form  again  !  And  NOW ! — Oh,  Mr. 
Cinch!  you  are  in  the  Current !  the  CURRENT! 
Do  you  not  feel  its  swift  influence?  The 
Current  of  Truth  !  Brightly,  joyously,  swiftly 
does  this  Spiritual  Gulf  Stream  bear  you  to 
ward  the  Great  Central  Calm  !  Ah  ! — ah  !" 

The  Scientist  was  evidently  in  a  great  state  of 
excitement.  Her  voice  had  risen  to  a  keen 
soprano  key,  and  her  eyes  sparkled  wildly. 
When  she  had  finally  succeeded  in  getting  Mr. 
Cinch  into  the  Current,  she  fell  back  in  her 
chair,  quite  exhausted. 

Neither  spoke  for  several  minutes,  and  then 
Miss  Beeks  finally  said :  "Open  your  eyes,  Mr. 
Cinch !"  The  old  man  looked  at  her  with  evi 
dent  curiosity.  "You  talk  beautiful,"  he  said, 
earnestly,  "and  I  really  think  I  feel  better!" 

"Don't  say  'feel,'  Mr.  Cinch.  Cultivate 
thought  and  not  sensation.  I  know  you  are 
better  and  that  means,  of  course,  that  the  sup 
posititious  curvature  of  your  limbs,  never  real,  is 


IT    WAS    A    GOOD    DEAL,    MR.    GROANER. 


265 


2  66  TIN-TYPES. 

less  apparent.  You  must  put  yourself  under 
my  treatment  from  this  moment.  The  advan 
tage  gained  already  must  not  be  lost.  You 
must  not  go  home,  or  to  business,  or  out  of 
this  room  until  your  mind  is  thoroughly  healed. 
You  must  not  get  out  of  the  Current  until  you 
are  safely  in  the  Calm  Centre." 

It  was  the  fourth  day  after  her  husband's 
strange  disappearance,  and  Mrs.  Cinch  was 
seated  in  the  back  parlor  of  her  desolate  house, 
receiving  spiritual  consolation  from  an  elderly 
clerical  gentleman.  "Oh,  sir,"  she  was  saying, 
"he  was  such  a  good  man,  so  gentle  and  easy  to 
get  along  with.  He  had  no  harsh  words,  no 
matter  how  much  he  had  to  bear.  And  I'm 
fearful  it  was  a  good  deal,  Mr.  Groaner,  I'm 
fearful  it  was  a  good  deal." 

Mr.  Groaner  sighed  with  much  feeling,  and 
said  she  must  not  repine,  adding  in  a  comfort 
ing  way  that  the  world  was  full  of  sorrow. 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Cinch,  as  though  greatly 
consoled  by  that  fact,  "I  know  it.  We  all  have 
our  burdens  and  I  s'pose  we  need  'em." 

"Indeed  we  do,  Sister  Cinch,"  Mr.  Groaner 
replied,  "but  for  our  burdens  we  should  grow 
vain  and  worldly." 

This  disastrous  result  being  in  Mrs.  Cinch's 
case  rendered  less  menacing  through  the  sup- 


TIN-TYPES.  267 

posed  death  of  her  partner,  the  good  man  pro 
ceeded  to  show  her  the  necessity  of  "bearing 
up,"  and  of  counting  all  things  good,  and  of 
drawing  from  these  mournful  visitations  the 
valuable  lesson  that  earthly  affections  are 
empty  and  void.  Much  had  been  accomplished 
toward  reconciling  her  to  the  unhappy  situa 
tion  when  a  familiar  click  was  heard  in  the 
front  door  latch. 

Mrs.  Cinch  started. 

The  click  was  repeated  and  then  the  door 
was  flung  open,  and  a  heavy  footfall  sounded 
in  the  hallway. 

"William!"  cried  Mrs.  Cinch.  "It's  Will 
iam,  Brother  Groaner!  Help  me  up!  Help 
me  to  run  and  meet  him !  William,  my  dear, 
good,  sweet,  bow-legged  old  William !  O, 
Brother  Groaner,  I  shall  go  crazy  with  happi 
ness  !  Hear  his  old  feet,  stuck  on  them  dear 
bow-legs  of  his,  making  a  sound  that  I'd  know 
'mong  ten  thousand !  Come  along,  Brother 
Groaner,  come  long." 

They  got  into  the  hall  with  as  much  speed 
as  possible,  and  there,  coming  toward  them 
was  Mr.  Cinch,  his  round  face  lighted  with  a 
peaceful  smile.  He  paused,  and  there  was 
something  in  his  manner  and  attitude  that 
caused  them  to  pause  as  well.  He  brought  his 
pudgy  feet  closely  together  and  straightened 


268  TIN-TYPES. 

his  figure  to  its  loftiest  possibility,  as  if  to  call 
attention  to  its  perfect  beauty. 

"Maria,  my  dear,"  he  said,  in  deep,  low  tones, 
"I  float  in  the  Calm  Centre  of  Infinite  Truth." 

A  look  of  profound  alarm  came  upon  Mrs. 
Cinch's  face,  and  she  glanced  at  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Groaner.  He  shook  his  head  sadly. 

Mr.  Cinch  observed  the  dubious  looks  and  he 
hastened  to  dispel  them. 

"I  am  in  harmony  with  the  Universal  Mind," 
he  said.  "Look  at  them  legs!" 

They  looked.  "Yes,  William,"  answered  Mrs. 
Cinch,  profoundly  disturbed,  "I  see  them  legs, 
and  dear,  sweet,  precious  old  legs  they  are, 
William,  and  if  I  ever  said  they  wasn't,  I  told  a 
story  and  goodness  knows  I've  suffered  enough 
for  it  in  the  last  three  days  and  nights.  I  love 
them  cunning  old  legs,  William,  better'n  all  the 
rest  of  you  put  together,  and  I  don't  care 
where  you're  floating  nor  what  you're  in  har 
mony  with,  I  only  just  know  you're  back  again 
with  the  same  beautiful,  chubby,  round  old  legs 
you  took  away,  and  I'm  downright  crying  happy, 
and  the  rounder  they  gets  the  more  I'll  love 
them !" 

And,  unable  longer  to  restrain  herself,  the 
good  old  lady  rushed  upon  him  and  hugged 
him  black  and  blue. 

Mr.  Cinch  may  still  be  floating  in  the  Calm 


269 


270  TIN-TYPES. 

Centre  of  Infinite  Truth,  or  he  may  not  He 
may  still  be  in  harmony  with  the  Universal 
Mind  or  he  may  not.  He  hasn't  mentioned 
lately.  But  this  is  sure  truth — that  wherever 
he  floats,  Mrs.  Cinch  is  floating  with  him,  and 
whatever  else  he  may  be  in  harmony  with  he 
is  certainly  in  harmony  with  her.  He  wobbles 
and  toddles  up  and  down  just  as  he  used  to  do, 
but  never  a  word  does  he  hear  to  the  prejudice 
of  his  legs.  And  whether  they  be  as  crooked 
as  a  ram's  horn  or  as  straight  as  a  rifle-barrel, 
he  can't  see  them  and  she  won't — so  what's  the 
odds,  anyhow? 


XIII. 
GRANDMOTHER  CRUNCHER. 

TONY  SCOLLOP'S  great  point  was  enter 
prise.  When  he  looked  at  anything  it  was 
always  with  the  query  running  through  his 
mind,  how  can  this  be  turned  to  account?  The 
beauty  of  utility  was  the  beauty  which  Tony's 
eyes  detected  and  which  his  heart  valued. 

There  may  be  a  want  of  true  and  pure  senti 
ment  in  this  way  of  considering  the  world  and 
its  contents,  but  Tony's  lot  had  been  cast  in  a 
sphere  where  necessity  encroaches  upon  senti 
ment.  Bread  was  dear  and  babies  cheap  in  the 
tenement  where  Tony  was  born,  and  his  char 
acter  was  greatly  affected  by  this  circumstance. 

And  yet  Tony  was  not  unmindful  of  the  fact 
that  sentiment  is  a  powerful  stimulant.  As 
such,  he  prized  it.  His  acute  perception  dis 
closed  to  him  that  people  would  pay  freely  to 
have  their  sentiments  fed,  and  Tony  was  will 
ing  to  do  almost  anything  not  specifically  men 
tioned  in  the  Criminal  Code,  for  pay.  It  had 
been  early  impressed  upon  his  mind  that  the 
271 


272  TIN-TYPES. 

profitable  sentiments  of  a  great  proportion  of 
mankind  were  reached  through  their  curiosity. 
This  lesson  was  first  enforced  upon  Tony  by  a 
Monkey. 

The  monkey  was  a  particularly  clever  knave. 
He  was  in  the  retinue  consisting,  besides  him 
self,  of  a  woman,  two  babies,  a  hand-organ  and 
a  tin-cup,  appertaining  to  a  dusky  Neapolitan 
who  infested  the  tenement  district  in  which 
Tony's  boyhood  was  spent.  That  monkey  had 
on  several  occasions  seduced  a  penny  from 
Tony's  unwilling  hand.  Thereby  he  had 
earned  Tony's  respect  and  had  caused  Tony's 
reflections  to  dwell  upon  him.  That  monkey 
had  a  large  place  in  the  circumstances  which 
led  Tony  to  go  into  the  dime-museum  busi 
ness. 

As  a  dime-museum  manager,  to  which  ex 
alted  station  Tony  finally  arose  and  in  which 
he  was  now  engaged,  he  was  a  remarkable  suc 
cess.  He  seemed  to  have  found  just  the  field 
for  his  talents.  They  led  him  into  a  great 
variety  of  speculations,  but  from  one  and  all  he 
emerged  plethoric  with  dimes.  His  museum 
had  grown  until  it  now  occupied  the  three  floors 
of  one  of  the  largest  buildings  in  the  Bowery. 

It  was  in  the  very  height  of  his  great  career, 
when  his  enterprise  was  most  conspicuous,  his 
curiosities  most  numerous,  his  patronage  most 


TIN-TYPES.  273 

extensive,  and  his  self-appreciation  most  com 
plete  and  complacent,  that  he  was  called  upon 
to  face  a  singular  emergency. 

A  gentleman  in  Hoboken  had  boiled  his 
mother-in-law.  It  is  of  no  moment  now  why 
he  had  boiled  his  mother-in-law,  though  at  the 
time  the  consideration  of  this  question  had 
filled  columns  upon  columns  of  the  daily  news 
papers.  There  had  been  a  controversy  between 
the  gentleman  and  his  mother-in-law,  prolonged 
and  distracting,  and  the  long  and  short  of  a 
very  painful  conjunction  of  circumstances  is 
that  the  gentleman  had  felt  himself  reduced  to 
the  necessity  of  doing  something  serious  to  his 
mother-in-law,  and,  thus  moved,  he  had  boiled 
her.  It  would  have  been  wiser,  doubtless,  had 
he  taken  some  other  course,  though  that  is  a 
matter  of  judgment  into  which  I  refrain  from 
going.  The  only  fact  needful  to  be  mentioned 
here  is  that  the  event  had  taken  up  a  vast 
amount  of  space  in  the  papers,  which  had 
printed  large  maps  of  the  room  wherein  the 
boiling  had  occurred,  together  with  striking  pic 
tures  of  the  gentleman,  the  mother-in-law,  the 
kettle  in  which  the  boiling  had  been  done,  the 
cat  which  usually  slept  in  the  kettle,  and  other 
important  accessories  of  the  event. 

Among  these  was  the  gentleman's  grand 
mother,  a  venerable  lady  living  in  Wisconsin, 


274  TIN-TYPES. 

who,  upon  being  informed  that  her  grandson 
was  in  jail  for  boiling  his  mother-in-law,  had 
come  on  to  Hoboken  to  comfort  him.  She 
was  met  at  the  depot  by  a  considerable  com 
pany  of  reporters,  and  by  Mr.  Tony  Scollop, 
who,  with  an  enterprise  all  his  own,  provided 
a  coach  for  her,  went  with  her  to  the  jail,  re 
mained  during  the  sad  interview  that  took  place 
with  her  unhappy  grandson,  and  gave  her  a  gor 
geous  bouquet  with  which  to  assuage  her  grief. 
He  took  her  to  a  hotel,  and  did  not  leave  her 
until  she  had  signed  a  ten  weeks'  contract  to 
appear  in  his  dime  museum.  These,  with  many 
other  facts  illustrative  of  Tony's  generosity  and 
gentle  sympathy,  appeared  in  many  of  the 
newspapers  the  next  day. 

Whatever  may  have  been  their  general  effect, 
there  were  bosoms  in  which  they  produced  dis 
agreeable  sensations,  and  among  these  was  the 
bosom  of  Billy  O'Fake,  the  Wild  Man  from 
Borneo.  Indeed  Mr.  O'Fake  was  positively 
angry  when  he  saw  that  Grandmother  Cruncher 
was  to  be  exhibited  from  the  same  platform 
with  himself.  He  stuck  his  pipe  in  his  mouth, 
his  hat  on  his  head,  and  his  feet  on  the  foot 
board  of  his  bed,  and  said  emphatically  that  he 
be  domned  if  he'd  shtand  the  loikes  av  this 
gran'mother  business  any  more  at  all.  It  had 
gone  the  laste  bit  too  fur,  an',  bedad,  he'd  lay 


TIN-TYPES.  275 

the  hull  matter  before  the  Brotherhood  and 
Sisterhood  of  Animated  Frakes  that  blissid 
marnin' ! 

The  more  Mr.  O'Fake  thought  it  over  the 
more  outraged  his  feelings  became.  At  last, 
unable  longer  to  contain  himself,  he  strode  from 
his  room,  descended  into  the  Bowery,  passed 
into  East  Broadway,  and  clambered  aloft  to 
the  fifth  story  of  a  rickety  flat.  There  he 
knocked  loudly  at  a  door  and  responded  in 
something  of  violent  haste  to  the  invitation  to 
enter. 

Seated  in  one  corner  of  the  room,  over  a 
small,  red-hot  stove,  was  a  queer-looking  little 
man.  There  was  a  tin  plate  on  the  stove  from 
which  the  odor  of  melting  cheese  arose,  and 
mingling  with  the  odor  of  burning  tobacco,  con 
tributed  from  the  little  man's  pipe,  burdened 
the  atmosphere  with  dense  and  by  no  means 
delightful  fumes.  The  little  man  had  a  fork  in 
one  hand  and  a  mug  of  beer  in  the  other  and 
he  was  snatching  the  cheese  from  the  plate, 
shoving  it  into  his  mouth  and  washing  it  down 
with  the  beer  at  a  rate  and  with  a  disregard  of 
heat  and  cold  that  were  wonderful  to  observe. 

He  was  anything  but  a  pretty  little  man. 
His  head  was  big  and  his  body  small  and  his 
legs  very  short  and  very  thick.  He  sat  upon 
a  keg,  the  top  of  which  he  quite  amply  cov- 


'SIT,    IS    IT?      WHERE?"    SAID    BILLY. 


276 


TIN-TYPES.  277 

ered,  but  his  feet  came  scarcely  half-way  to  the 
floor.  His  gray  eyes  twinkled  from  holes  sunk 
far  into  his  head,  and  twinkled  so  brightly  that 
you  had  to  look  at  them,  but  so  sharply  that 
you  wouldn't  if  you  could  have  helped  it.  He 
peeked  quickly  at  Mr.  O'Fake,  and  cried  in  a 
shrill  voice  : 

"Hi!  hi!  Billy!     Come  in  an'  sit  down !" 

"Sit,  is  it?     Where?"  said  Billy. 

"Vhere?"  repeated  the  queer  little  man.  "If 
I  vos  to  tell  you  vhere,  Billy,  your  hingenuity 
vouldn't  be  drored  out.  Von  o'  the  uses  of 
hexperience,  Billy,  is  to  dror  hout  the  hingenu 
ity.  You're  lookin'  summat  doleful,  Billy. 
Cheer  hup,  me  boy,  cheer  hup !  I'd  like  to  in- 
wite  you  to  this  'ere  feast,  but  there's  honly 
von  'elp  o'  cheese  left,  an'  honly  von  svaller  of 
beer.  But  pull  hout  yer  pipe  an' — vot's  on 
yer  mind,  Billy?" 

Mr.  O'Fake  was  standing  with  his  back 
against  the  door,  his  arms  folded,  his  hat  on  the 
side  of  his  head,  and  an  ominous  expression  on 
his  face. 

"Have  ye  seen  the  marnin'  papers,  Runty?" 
he  inquired. 

"Papers,  Billy,  papers?  Vot  do  I  vant  wid 
the  papers.  No,  Billy,  I  shuns  'em.  No  man 
can  be  a  'abitchual  reader  huv  the  papers, 
Billy,  vidout  comin'  to  a  bad  hend." 


278  TIN-TYPES. 

Mr.  O'Fake  drew  from  his  pocket  a  copy  of 
"The  Daily  Bazoo,"  and  pointing  at  a  certain 
paragraph,  said:  "Rade  thot,  Runty!" 

The  queer  little  man  stuck  his  fork  under  the 
tin  plate  and  flipped  it  off  the  stove  upon  the 
floor,  heedless  of  Mr.  O'Fake's  wishes.  "Hex- 
cuse  me,  Billy,"  he  said,  "I  never  wiolate  my 
princerples.  I  'ave  no  use  for  papers  an'  I 
never  reads  'em.  Wot's  it  say?" 

"Bedad,  I'll  tell  ye  pwhat  it  says.  It  says 
outrage.  It  says  another  wan  o'  thim  ould 
women  has  come  bechune  me  an'  me  daily 
bread.  It  says  that  Tony  Scollop's  been  and 
hired  some  ould  hag  av  a  gran'mother  to  shtep 
in  an'  discredit  the  perfession.  I  was  a  lad  av 
tin  years,  sor,  when  I  furst  shtepped  upon  the 
boords  av  a  doime  moosaum  in  the  well-known 
characther  av  the  Son  av  the  Cannibal  King. 
From  that  day  to  this,  sor,  I  have  exhibited  my 
charrums  to  the  deloighted  eyes  av  the  popu- 
lus  fer  tin  cints  per  look.  I  have  been  a  Zulu 
Chafetain,  a  Tattooed  Grake,  a  Noted  Malay 
Pirate,  a  Bushman  from  Australier,  an'  afther  a 
public  career  which  there  ben't  no  better,  I  am 
to  this  day,  sor,  to  this  day  a  Wild  Man  from 
Barneo.  Widout  the  natcheral  advantages 
which  a  ginerous  Heaven  has  besthowed  upon 
you,  sor,  or  upon  my  honored  frind,  Misther 
Kwang,  the  Chinaze  Giant,  or  upon  Maddle- 


TIN-TYPES.  279 

merzelle  Bristelli,  the  bearded  Woman,  or  upon 
Ko-ko,  the  T'ree-Headed  Girrul, — widout  sich 
natcheral  advantages,  sor,  for  to  raise  me  at 
wanst  to  the  front  rank  av  Frakes,  my  coorse 
has  been  wan  av  worruk,  sor.  That  worruk 
has  been  done ;  my  name  as  the  greatest  living 
Wild  Man  from  Barneo  is  writ,  sor,  in  letthers 
av  goold  upon  fame's  highest  pin — er,  pinister ! 
There,  sor,  it  is  to-day,  and  shall  I  now — 

"Billy,"  replied  the  queer  little  man,  "you 
shall  not.  Your  vords  is  werry  booterful  an' 
werry  true.  This  'ere  bizness  of  bringin'  in 
Nurse  Connellys,  an'  Marie  Wan  Zandts,  an' 
the  huncles  an'  hants  an'  neffies  an'  nieces  an' 
gran'mothers  belonging  to  influential  murder 
ers  an'  Young  Napoleons  uv  Finance  an'  sich, 
is  a-puttin'  the  persitions  uv  legitermate  Freaks 
in  peril.  I  speaks  as  the  Gran'  Worthy  Sub 
lime  an'  Mighty  Past  High  Master  uv  the 
Brother'ood  an'  Sister'ood  uv  Hanimated 
Freaks,  an'  I  says  hit  vont'  do !  Our  rights  an' 
liberties  is  not  thus  to  be  er — is  they,  Billy?" 

"Sor,  they  air  not.     They — 

"Veil,  then,  Billy,  you  shall  come  before  the 
Brother'ood  an'  say  so.  You  shall  say  it  this 
werry  mornin'  vith  your  best  langwidge.  Vith 
that  tongue  o'  yours,  Billy,  an'  that  'ere  him- 
posin'  presence,  ef  you  honly  ad'  a  crook  in  yer 
back  or  ef  yer  heye  vos  honly  in  the  middle -uv 


HEXCUSE    ME,    BILLY,"    HE    SAID,    "l    NEVER   WIOLATK  MY 
PRINCERPLES." 


280 


TIN-TYPES.  281 

yer  'ed,  Billy,  you'd  be  the  leadin'  Freak  on 
berth !" 

With  this  genial  and  deserved  tribute,  which 
Mr.  O'Fake  received  most  graciously,  the  dwarf 
tumbled  from  his  keg,  which  tumbled  also  in 
its  turn,  raked  a  heavy  overcoat  and  a  rough  fur 
cap  from  a  dark  closet,  and  having  got  himself 
into  them,  he  begged  Billy  to  accompany  him 
without  delay. 

The  Brotherhood  and  Sisterhood  of  Anima 
ted  Freaks  was  and  is  one  of  the  most  impor 
tant  and  distinguished  of  the  labor  organiza 
tions  of  New  York.  Its  membership  is  com 
posed,  as  its  name  implies,  of  the  ladies  and 
gentlemen  actually  engaged  in  the  entertain 
ment  of  the  public  by  the  exhibition  of  their 
interesting  bodies.  Its  purposes  are  to  encour 
age  social  pleasures  among  its  members,  and 
to  protect  them  against  the  encroachments  of 
domineering  managers.  Such  an  organization 
was  made  necessary  by  the  continued  aggres 
sions  of  the  managerial  classes,  who  were  led  by 
their  unbridled  greed  to  resort  to  all  kinds  of 
unjust  expedients  whereby  to  grind  down  and 
trample  under  foot  the  poor  and  needy  Freak. 
This  sort  of  foul  injustice  went  on  from  year  to 
year,  rendering  the  Freaks  more  and  more  de 
pendent  on  the  opulent  and  tyrannical  mana 
gers,  until  the  wrongs  resultant  from  it  cried 


282  TIN-TYPES. 

to  heaven  for  vengeance.  At  last,  from  the 
depths  of  their  misery  the  Freaks  arose  and 
with  one  masterful  effort  they  threw  off  their 
base  shackles  and  declared  themselves  free. 

It  was  truly  a  majestic  movement.  The 
Brotherhood  was  firmly  established  in  all  parts 
of  America  and  Great  Britain,  and  it  duly  re 
solved  that  no  one  should  hereafter  be  a  Freak, 
or  be  tolerated  in  the  society  of  Freaks,  who 
was  not  a  member  of  the  Brotherhood  in  good 
standing.  It  resolved  that  no  manager  should 
employ  any  one  claiming  to  be  a  Freak  who 
was  not  thus  rendered  legitimate.  It  resolved 
to  various  purports,  and  in  phrases  most  solemn 
the  majesty  of  the  manhood  and  womanhood 
of  the  freakly  profession  was  vindicated. 

The  managers,  of  course,  retaliated  in  kind. 
They  organized  a  trust.  They  classified  the 
Freaks  and  rated  them.  The  relations  between 
labor  and  capital  engaged  in  the  museum  in 
dustry  became  thereby  greatly  strained,  but  as 
yet  no  actual  rupture  had  occurred.  All  hoped 
in  the  public  interest  to  avert  such  a  catastro 
phe,  but  each  side  felt  that  a  fierce  struggle 
was  imminent. 

Only  some  such  incident  as  had  been  sup 
plied  in  the  enterprising  stroke  of  business  ac 
complished  by  Tony  Scollop  was  needed  to  fan 
the  sparks  of  resentment  into  a  flame.  The 


TIN-TYPES.  283 

flame  was  already  burning  in  the  bosom  of 
Mr.  Billy  O'Fake,  and  when  he  and  the  dwaTf 
reached  the  Brotherhood's  headquarters  they 
were  ready  to  perform  the  functions  of  a 
torch. 

The  Executive  Council  of  the  Brotherhood, 
District  No.  6,  F.  I.  M.  X.  T.  S.  Z.,  was  about 
to  hold  a  meeting.  The  Council  was  composed 
of  seven  eminent  Freaks — Sim  Boles,  the 
Double-Jointed  Wonder;  Bony  Perkins,  the 
Ossified  Man ;  Duffer  Leech,  the  Man  with 
the  Phenomenal  Skull ;  Miss  Tilly  Boles,  the 
Beautiful  Mermaid  of  the  Southern  Sea;  Mrs. 
Smock,  the  Bearded  Circassian  Beauty ;  Mr. 
Billy  O'Fake,  the  Wild  Man  from  Borneo, 
and  the  President  of  the  Brotherhood,  Runty, 
the  Dwarf.  These  ladies  and  gentlemen  were 
the  leaders,  nay,  the  fathers  and  mothers  of  the 
organization,  distinguished  for  their  sagacity, 
resolution  and  prudence. 

The  arrival  of  Mr.  O'Fake  and  the  Dwarf 
completed  the  council,  which  proceeded 
promptly  to  business.  Runty  took  the  chair, 
and  in  a  few  earnest  and  well-chosen  words, 
he  dispatched  the  Ossified  Man  for  a  pitcher  of 
beer.  The  transaction  of  other  routine  busi 
ness  occupied  the  attention  of  the  council  for  a 
brief  while,  but  it  soon  gave  way  to  the  press 
ing  business  of  the  hour.  This  came  in  the 


284  TIN-TYPES. 

shape  of  a  resolution  presented  by  Mr.  O'Fake, 
in  these  words : 

Whereas,  Mr.  T.  Scollop,  manager  of  the 
Universal  Dime  Museum  of  Natural  Wonders, 
has  seen  fit  to  involve  our  honorable  profession 
in  disgrace  by  the  employment  for  exhibition 
as  an  Animated  Freak  of  Grandmother  Crunch 
er,  so  called ;  and, 

Whereas,  The  said  Grandmother  Cruncher  is 
not  a  member  of  this  Honorable  Brotherhood, 
nor  a  Freak,  but  merely  a  person  of  vulgar 
notoriety;  and, 

Whereas,  The  said  employment  by  the  said 
T.  Scollop  of  the  said  Female  is  in  violation  of 
Paragraph  13  of  Article  210  of  Section  306 
of  Chapter  194  of  Book  8  of  the  Constitution 
and  By-Laws  of  this  Honorable  Brotherhood, 
therefore  be  it, 

RESOLVED,  That  a  committee  of  three  mem 
bers  of  this  Council  be  appointed  by  the  Grand 
Worthy  Sublime  and  Mighty  Past  High  Mas 
ter  to  see  the  said  T.  Scollop  and  to  inform 
him  of  the  displeasure  which  his  course  herein 
set  forth  has  excited  in  this  Council,  and  to 
insist  upon  the  immediate  discharge  of  the  said 
Cruncher. 

"Wid  the  Chair's  permission,"  said  Mr. 
O'Fake,  when  his  resolutions  had  been  read,  "I 
will  spake  a  worrud  wid  regard  to  the  riser- 
looshuns.  Sor,  I  hav  no  apolergy  to  make  for 
thim  riserlooshuns.  They  manes  business. 
We  are  threatened,  sor,  wid  a  didly  pur'l.  It 


TIN-TYPES.  285 

has  not  come  upon  us  uv  a  sudden,  sor,  not 
to  wanst.  It  is  a  repetition,  sor,  av  an  ould 
offince,  an'  I  am  here,  sor,  in  this  reshpicted 
prisence,  sor,  to  say  that  the  toime  has  come 
fer  this  Brotherhood  to  make  its  power  filt!" 

Mr.  O'Fake  brought  his  clinched  fist  down 
upon  the  back  of  the  Chair  in  front  of  him  with 
a  smart  tap  and  looked  proudly  at  the  admir 
ing  faces  of  his  fellow-members.  Mr.  O'Fake 
was  eminent  for  his  attainments  as  a  speaker, 
and  well  he  knew  it.  A  murmur  of  applause 
broke  out  as  he  stopped,  but  he  stilled  it  with 
a  majestic  wave  of  the  hand. 

"Sor,"  he  continued,  "I  am  wan  av  those 
which  belaves  that  the  managers  nades  a  les 
son.  They  nades  to  be  towld,  sor,  that  Frakes 
is  not  dogs.  They  have  gone  on  in  their 
coorse — 

At  this  point  a  shrill  "Mr.  Cheerman !" 
sounded  out  from  the  rear  of  the  hall,  and  to 
the  great  indignation  of  Mr.  O'Fake  and  to 
everybody  else's  surprise,  Mr.  Duffer  Leech, 
the  Man  with  the  Phenomenal  Skull,  was  ob 
served  to  be  standing  with  his  arm  lifted  and 
his  index  finger  extended  towards  the  Chair. 

Mr.  O'Fake  was  much  too  astonished  at  Mr. 
Leech's  audacity  to  express  himself.  The 
Chair  looked  from  one  gentleman  to  the  other 
in  perplexity,  mysteriously  winking  at  Mr. 


286  TIN-TYPES. 

Leech  and  nodding  at  Mr.  O'Fake  as  if  to 
call  the  attention  of  the  one  to  the  fact  that 
the  other  was  already  addressing  the  council. 
These  repeated  gestures  having  produced  no 
other  effect  than  to  draw  another  "Mr.  Cheer- 
man !"  from  Mr.  Leech,  the  dwarf  was  moved 
to  inquire,  "Veil,  Duffer,  vot's  hup?" 

"I  wants  to  know  wot's  all  dis  talkin'  about. 
I  ain't  got  all  day  to  sit  here  and  listen  to  chin- 
moosic.  Wot's  de  trouble?" 

It  was  easy  to  see  that  Duffer  had  been 
drinking.  No  man  in  his  senses  would  have 
ventured  so  rudely  to  have  checked  the  flow  of 
Mr.  O'Fake's  oratory.  Duffer  had  clearly  been 
drinking,  and  the  lion  whose  anger  he  had 
roused  turned  upon  him  quickly. 

"Phwat's  the  throuble !"  he  repeated,  sarcas 
tically.  "I  should  say  the  throuble  was  plain 
enough.  If  the  gintleman  has  any  difficulty 
seein'  it  now,  he  won't  long.  It'll  take  the 
farm  av  snakes,  sor,  an'  little  rid  divils  wid  long 
tails  in  doo  toime !" 

Mr.  O'Fake  spoke  with  much  dignity  and 
great  effect.  In  the  roar  of  laughter  which  fol 
lowed  Duffer  perceived  he  had  been  vanquished 
and  in  some  confusion  he  sat  down,  while  his 
victor  proceeded : 

"The  offince  minshun'ed  in  me  riserlooshuns 
is  a  blow  at  the  daily  brid  av  us  all,  sor.  If  any 


TIN-TYPES.  287 

ould  woman  kin  be  placed  in  the  froont  rank  av 
Frakes  fer  the  rayson  that  her  gran'son  killed 
another  ould  woman,  wull  ye  tell  me,  sor, 
phwat  becomes  av  our  janius  an'  harrud  work? 
Sor,  I  am  bould  to  say  that  yersilf,  honored  as 
ye  are  fer  hevin'  the  biggest  hid  on  the  shmall- 
est  body  in  the  world,  had  yer  hid  been  as  big 
as  a  base  dhrum  an'  yer  body  as  shmall  as  a 
marble,  ye  would  be  regarded  as  av  no  impar- 
tance  in  comparison  wid  this  ould  witch  av  a 
Gran'mother  Cruncher." 

The  impression  produced  by  Mr.  O'Fake's 
remarks  was  evidently  deep  and  painful.  He 
sat  down  amid  silence  which  was  presently 
broken  by  the  shrill  voice  of  Duffer. 

"Mr.  Cheerman,"  said  Duffer.  "I  rise  to  a 
p'int  o'  order." 

"Pint  o'  vot?"  inquired  the  Chair. 

"Order,  sir,  order!"  cried  Duffer,who  had  long 
been  a  member  of  an  East  Side  debating  club. 

"Veil,  I  hunderstands  you,  Duffer,  hall  as 
far's  you've  vent.  But  it's  wery  himportant, 
me  boy,  vot  you  horders  a  pint  of.  If  it's  a 
pint  of  vhisky,  vhy,  all  right ;  but  if  it's  honly 
a  pint  of  beer  vhen  there's  seven  hon'able 
ladies  an'  gents — " 

"I  bigs  the  Chair's  pardon,"  interrupted  Mr. 
O'Fake,  "but  the  Chair  labors  under  a  slight 
misaper — ahem !"  Mr.  O'Fake  finished  the 


288  TIN-TYPES. 

word  with  a  cough.  It  was  a  cough  which  he 
always  kept  ready  for  use  in  that  way  when 
ever  needed.  "The  gintleman  manes  he  ob 
jects  to  the  persadin's." 

"He  does,  does  'e?  Veil,  if  that's  vot  'e 
means,  'e  hexpresses  hisself  in  a  werry  poor 
vay,"  answered  the  Chair,  directing  a  look  at 
Duffer  which  precipitated  him  at  once  into  his 
seat. 

Mrs.  Smock,  the  Circassian  Beauty,  said  very 
decidedly  that  she  didn't  want  any  Grand 
mother  Crunchers  on  the  platform  with  her, 
and  what  was  the  use  of  having  a  Brotherhood 
if  you  didn't  stop  such  things,  which  was  de 
basing  as  everybody  knew,  and  made  her  blood 
just  boil  every  time  it  happened  for  she  couldn't 
stand  having  her  rights  took  away  and  wasn't 
going  to.  These  energetic  remarks  decided 
the  Chair  to  act. 

"Veil,"  he  said,  "it  happears  to  be  a  go. 
The  Chair  happoints  hisself  an'  Billy  an'  Sim 
Boles,  an'  the  sooner  ve  sees  Tony  the  sooner 
vill  the  band  begin  to  play.  If  you  don't  think 
there'll  be  moosic  as  '11  make  your  ears  'um, 
you  don't  know  Tony  Scollop." 

The  Chair  thereupon  descended  from  its 
lofty  place,  and  with  characteristic  promptness 
worked  itself  into  its  hat  and  coat.  The  oc 
casion  was  felt  by  all  to  be  somewhat  solemn, 


289 

and  murmurs  of  advice  arose  to  each  of  the 
committee  as  to  the  best  method  of  proceed 
ing.  It  was  agreed  that  the  other  members  of 
the  council  should  remain  in  the  headquarters 
until  the  committee's  return. 

Runty  considered  himself  something  of  a 
diplomat,  and  he  let  it  be  understood  while  on 
the  way  to  Mr.  Scollop's  office  that  he  would 
present  the  case.  They  found  Mr.  Scollop  in 
an  amiable  humor  and  most  happy  to  see  them. 
There  was  a  pause  after  the  greetings,  and  to 
relieve  it  Mr.  Scollop  remarked  again  that  it 
was  a  fine  day. 

"So  it  is,"  rejoined  Runty,  "vich  in  combina 
tion  with  the  natur'  of  hour  business  haccounts 
•  for  hour  smilin'  faces." 

"That's  right,"  said  Tony.  "Only  if  I  was 
you  I  wouldn't  smile  in  the  sun.  Three  such 
smilin'  faces  as  yours  turned  right  up  at  him 
would  produce  a  shadder,  Runty.  Now,  what 
are  you  fellows  up  to?  Some  Brotherhood 
game,  I'll  bet  a  hat." 

"Wot  a  werry  hactive  mind !"  cried  Runty 
admiringly.  "If  you  vos  to  guess  again  you'd 
hit  the  game  itself  an'  save  us  playin'  it." 

"No,  you'd  better  lead  off." 

"Veil,  then,  clubs  is  trumps,  an'  we  have  got 
a  big  von  vith  a  knot  on  the  hend  for  Gran'- 
mother  Cruncher — see?" 


290  TIN-TYPES. 

Mr.  Scollop  smiled  thoughtfully  and  said  he 
saw.  "I  see  a  long  ways,"  he  added.  "Crunch 
er  is  upstairs  now,  and 'the  public  is  piling  in 
head  over  heels  to  see  her.  Her  portographs 
is  selling  like  hot  cakes  and  the  more  you  kicks 
the  more  she'll  be  worth  to  me.  Fact  is,  I  wish 
you  would  raise  a  disturbance.  There's  noth- 
in'  like  judicious  advertisin'  in  this  mooseum 
business.  It  would  be  worth  a  little  some 
thing  to  have  a  nice,  hard  strike.  Now,  then, 
do  you  see?" 

Runty  smiled  in  his  turn  and  also  said  he 
saw.  "If  that's  vot  you  vant,"  he  said,  "you've 
got  it.  The  strike  is  on,  an'  afore  you  gets 
through  with  Gran'mother  Cruncher  you'll  have 
so  much  o'  the  same  kind  o'  notoriety  that  you 
an'  her  '11  make  a  team,  an'  you  both  orter 
grow  rich  by  just  hex'ibitin*  of  your  two 
selves!" 

"Capital !"  cried  Mr.  Scollop  in  much  excite 
ment,  ringing  his  bell  vigorously.  "This  is  the 
best  thing  'ats  happened  to  me  in  ten  years. 
Hey,  there,  you,  Dick!  Rush  around  the  cor 
ner  an'  get  a  canvas  painted — make  it  big — 
fifteen  by  twenty  feet,  and  great  big  black 
and  red  letters.  Come  now,  be  quick !  Take 
down  the  words:  'Strike!'  Make  each  letter 
two  feet  long!  'Our  Freaks  Fight  Grand 
mother  Cruncher!  They  Refuse  To  Exhibit 


THERE  STOOD  THE  NOBLE  OLD  LADY  IN  ALL  HER  PATHETIC 
BEAUTY. 


29I 


292  TIN-TYPES. 

Along  With  The  Old  Lady !  Jealous  Of  Her 
Dazzling  Beauty !  Manager  Scollop  Stands 
Firm!  Says  He  Will  Be  Loyal  To  Grand 
mother  Cruncher  Till  The  Heavens  Fall !  Not 
A  Freak  Left !  But  Grandmother  Cruncher 
Remains  Nobly  At  Her  Post!  Thousands 
Shake  Her  By  The  Hand !  She  Is  Now  Mak 
ing  A  Speech  To  The  Multitude!  Hurry  Up 
To  Hear  Her  Thrilling  Words!  Come  One! 
Come  All !  Only  Ten  Cents !' 

"There,  got  it  down?"  continued  the  Man 
ager,  breathlessly.  "Got  it  all  down?  Then 
rush  off,  Dick !  By  the  great  horn  spoon ! 
Was  there  ever  such  a  stroke  of  luck  as  this! 
Now,  Runty,  you  fellows  hurry  up  to  your 
headquarters,  so's  to  be  there  when  the  report 
ers  come.  Tell  'em  the  whole  business.  Tell 
'em  you'll  never  give  in !  Tell  'em  it's  a  battle 
to  the  death!  I'll  send  up  a  couple  o'  kegs  o' 
beer  and  a  lot  o'  cigars.  Be  lively,  now." 

Mr.  Scollop  sprang  from  his  chair  and  ran 
upstairs  in  frantic  haste  to  give  directions  for 
rendering  the  exhibition-room  as  commodious 
as  possible,  leaving  Runty  and  his  fellow-com- 
mitteemen  in  quite  a  state  of  mind. 

"Veil!"  said  the  dwarf,  drawing  a  prolonged 
breath  and  elevating  his  eyebrows  with  a  curi 
ous  expression  of  mingled  surprise  and  dismay, 
'  'ere's  vot  I  calls  a  go !" 


293 

Bony  Perkins  rubbed  his  ossified  eyes  with 
his  ossified  knuckles  and  observed  that  it  looked 
as  if  somebody  was  going  to  get  fooled. 

Mr.  O'Fake  arose  majestically  from  his  chair, 
and  looked  grimly  at  his  colleagues.  "Gintle- 
men,"  he  said,  "he'll  be  talkin'  in  another  tone 
within  a  wake.  Bedad,  we'll  tache  him  phwat 
he  don't  know.  We'll  send  out  an  appale  fer 
foonds,  an'  we'll  give  him  all  the  fight  he 
wants." 

Mr.  O'Fake's  hopeful  tone  was  needed  to 
brace  up  the  drooping  courage  of  his  friends. 
They  immediately  returned  to  the  council  and 
briefly  reported  that  their  grievances  had  been 
ignored,  and  that  the  strike  was  on  and  would 
be  general.  Orders  were  at  once  issued  and 
forwarded  to  every  museum  in  New  York  di 
recting  all  Freaks  straightway  to  quit  exhibit 
ing  and  appeals  were  issued  to  the  public  and 
to  all  labor  associations  for  financial  aid.  The 
headquarters  were  soon  in  a  state  of  commo 
tion.  Mr.  Scollop's  kegs  of  beer  had  arrived 
and  aided  greatly  in  increasing  the  ardor  of 
everybody's  feelings.  The  Ossified  Man  sur 
rounded  himself  with  the  Fat  Woman,  Little 
Bow-Legs  and  the  Chinese  Giant,  and  lectured 
them  long  and  earnestly  on  the  rights  of  labor 
and  the  tyranny  of  class  rule.  Mr.  O'Fake  de 
livered  a  full  score  of  beautiful  orations,  and 


294 


TIN-TYPES. 


the  entire  Brotherhood  agreed   that  its  power 
should  be  exerted  to  the  last  extreme. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Scollop's    museum  was   the 
scene  of  an  even   greater   tumult.     The  enor- 


THE  OSSIFIED   MAN   LECTURED   LONG  AND   EARNESTLY. 

mous  "Strike!"  placard  had  been  posted  and 
had  produced  an  immediate  effect.  Vast 
crowds  of  people,  wild  to  see  Grandmother 
Cruncher,  besieged  the  ticket-office  and  packed 
the  exhibition-room,  where,  upon  the  platform, 
elsewise  deserted,  stood  that  noble  old  lady  in 
all  her  pathetic  beauty.  Mr.  Scollop,  in  a  con 
dition  of  rapture  scarcely  possible  of  portrayal, 
stood  all  the  afternoon  in  his  private  office 
opening  wine  for  the  gentlemen  of  the  press 


TIN-TYPES.  %  295 

and  giving  them  the  fullest  information.  He 
truly  said  he  had  nothing  to  conceal.  He  had 
made  an  honest  man's  contract  and  he  would 
stand  by  it  till  he  dropped  in  his  tracks.  He 
was  not  the  man  to  desert  a  poor  old  woman 
in  her  sorrow  at  the  bidding  of  an  irresponsible 
clique  of  labor  bosses.  The  Freaks  did  not 
want  to  strike,  anyhow.  They  were  nagged  on 
to  it  by  their  leaders,  who  were  not  genuine 
Freaks  at  all,  but  professional  agitators.  Aside 
from  his  duty  to  Grandmother  Cruncher,  he 
was  not  going  to  have  his  business  run  by 
outsiders — not  if  he  knew  himself!  There 
would  be  no  abandonment  of  principle  or 
position  on  his  part,  the  public  might  depend 
on  it. 

Mr.  Scollop  professed  the  deepest  sorrow  at 
the  annoyance  and  vexation  to  which  the  pub 
lic  was  exposed  by  the  unfair  conduct  of  the 
strikers,  but  he  couldn't  help  it.  It  was  not  his 
fault.  He  knew  he  would  have  the  sympathy 
of  all  fair-minded  people.  He  would  do  his 
best  to  satisfy  his  patrons  even  under  these 
trying  circumstances.  The  museum  was  open 
now,  as  the  reporters  could  easily  see,  and 
would  be  kept  open.  Grandmother  Cruncher 
would  exhibit  and  would  be  the  great  and  per 
manent  feature  of  his  show  hereafter,  Brother 
hood  or  no  Brotherhood ! 


296  TIN-TYPES. 

These  remarks,  amplified  and  extended,  ap 
peared  in  the  papers,  together  with  interviews 
with  the  strikers  and  many  thrilling  incidents 
of  the  struggle.  Public  interest  was  aroused  in 
the  most  general  and  intense  degree,  and  Mr. 
Scollop's  cashier  made  daily  trips  to  the  bank 
with  a  bushel-basket  full  of  dimes.  How  long 
the  contest  would  have  continued  and  what  the 
final  result  would  have  been  are  problems  too 
deep  for  me.  But  at  the  end  of  the  first  week 
Grandmother  Cruncher's  rheumatism  was  too 
much  for  her  and  she  was  compelled  to  retire. 
Short  as  was  her  professional  career,  it  gave 
her  undying  fame.  In  labor  circles  many  ugly 
rumors  are  floating  about  concerning  the  man 
agement  of  the  strike.  It  is  broadly  intimated 
that  the  whole  thing  was  a  "sell,"  and  signifi 
cant  remark  is  made  upon  the  fact  that  Runty, 
the  Dwarf,  shortly  after  the  strike  was  ordered 
off,  appeared  upon  the  street  scintillating  under 
a  new  diamond  pin.  One  of  the  leading  daily 
journals  editorially  explained  the  matter  by 
stating  that  the  rheumatism  story  was  a  ruse, 
that  public  interest  in  Grandmother  Cruncher 
began  to  wane,  and  that  thereupon  Manager 
Scollop  "fixed  the  matter  up"  with  the  strikers. 
Tony,  however,  declares  that  the  Brotherhood 
gave  in,  while  Runty  says  it  is  stronger  than 
ever  and  more  than  ever  determined  to  protect 


TIN-TYPES.  297 

the  rights  of  its  members.  Where  the  exact 
truth  lies  it  is  far  from  me  to  say,  but  it  may 
be  pertinent  to  mention  that  Runty  and  Mr. 
O'Fake  have  started  a  saloon  in  the  Bowery. 


THE  END. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A    001  442  032    7 


